


Beauty Underneath

by OneThousandAngels



Series: Phantom of the Opera [2]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Domestic Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Horror, Housewife fantasies, Kinky, M/M, Passion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4113937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneThousandAngels/pseuds/OneThousandAngels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel fic to Music of the Night: this summary will contain spoilers for the first fic so if you haven't read that, you should probably stop reading now and go read the first one!</p><p>After the Mount Massive fire burns away everything superfluous, Waylon and the rest are left to deal with what grows from the ashes. Miles has a difficult time coping with the fact that Waylon's obsession with the phantom only increases exponentially in Eddie's absence. While their bond continues to haunt Waylon from the grave he still has to try to come to terms with his new life, but Waylon may be permanently changed. Can he ever go back or will he embrace the beauty underneath that Eddie fought to show him? Either way, it seems the phantom isn't done with him, or any of them, just yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love Never Dies

The jail cell was small, but as he stepped into it and saw the man sitting on the bunk across from him it suddenly became absolutely suffocating. The man's face stretched into a wicked smirk in spite of the bruises splashed across it like watercolors, and as he opened his mouth to speak it sent a chill dancing sickeningly down his spine. 

“There’s my boy…”

“Fuck off,” he spat, but remained standing awkwardly as far from him as the tiny space would allow.

“How’s a sweet little thing like you end up in a place like this anyway?”

Yes, what had he done? He leaned against the wall for support as the memories that weighed on him seemed to grow and become too heavy to bear. He thought he would be sick as a cold lump of terror sank deep into the pit of his stomach and sat there like a rock. What had he done? What had he done? What had he _done_? The words berated him, pounding at the inside of his skull, fighting to get out and by any means necessary, but he couldn't say the words. He closed his eyes.

“I…” he swallowed thickly. “I…made the worse mistake of my life.”

“You mean other than me?”

He smirked humorlessly back at him and his eyes filled with tears as he raised one trembling hand up to smooth back his hair. “Worse…so much worse…” His sardonic expression faltered and abruptly fell into one of misery. Guilt. “I killed him…I ruined…everything…”

“You got greedy,” the man supplied coolly, sitting up and leaning his elbows on his knees as he gazed across the room at his long ago lover. “You reached for the sun and you got burned. And you took down everyone else with you. I’d expect nothing less from you…I know what you really are. You’re like me.”

“I’m nothing like you.” He couldn't find the resolve to make it sound convincing even to his own ears.

The man chuckled and raised his hands, gesturing grandly to their surroundings. “Then how did we both end up here?”

 

 

——————

 

 

“Waylon…?” Miles coaxed as he put the spoonful of soup to his lips. “Come on, the doctors say you’re not eating…it’s a bread bowl, it’s your favorite…” He watched as Waylon turned his head away just slightly to avoid the spoon. He put the spoon back in the bowl, giving up for now with a tired sigh. It was about six o’clock and he hadn’t eaten yet either, but frankly he didn’t have much of an appetite himself. Visiting Waylon often reminded him of so many months ago when he’d come to visit Miles in the hospital after the accident that fucked up his leg…an accident that he’d long since realized hadn’t been so accidental. He smiled half-heartedly at the memory of their mockery of a date. _‘Are you really going to wear a dress on our first date?’_ Waylon had said. He chuckled to himself. How the tables had turned. 

“You remember when we had this same shitty hospital food on our ‘first date’? I was so happy you came to visit me… I was so bored and lonely, even though people kept stopping by and dropping off gifts and things, but it wasn’t the same as when you…well, it was just…you were the person I wanted to see the most. And you didn’t treat me like a baby, like, _ohhh poor thing look at you ohhh I’m so sorryyy_ …” He smiled, even though Waylon didn’t, but at least he got the feeling that Waylon was listening. “Anyway…we can still have a good time, just cause you’re cooped up in here doesn’t mean…”

He watched as Waylon turned his head and glanced down at the tray of food reluctantly. Miles nodded sympathetically. “They said I can bring you stuff if you want, but it’s not really the food, is it? …you always liked the crappy cafeteria food when we were in school together…” He offered him a spoonful of soup again. “Come on,” Miles said insistently. “Here comes the friggin’ choo choo….don’t make me do the choo choo sounds, Waylon, I swear to god…” At last he opened his mouth, and Miles sighed with relief as he fed him, watching him with a forlorn gaze. 

“Cool…good job, buddy…”

Eventually he got Waylon eating on his own, which he considered progress. For a long time he’d been hooked up to an I.V. instead, just after he’d arrived at the hospital. Within a couple of weeks they’d had him eating semi-regularly, heavily supplemented by easily consumed, high-nutrition drinks, and for the last week they’d been working him onto typical hospital food. Miles found it concerning that it wasn’t going so well, at least not as well as they’d expected. It was especially important that his nutrition and hydration stayed up to coincide with the skin grafting procedures. His burns weren’t as bad as to be expected, but some areas on his back had been severe, as well as parts of his hands. He was lucky to have gotten out of the building alive at all, but it was a miracle how little injuries he’d received. Miles had heard several of the nurses mention that he must have had a guardian angel looking out for him, which always made him chuckle bitterly. An angel, huh?

There had been talk of releasing Waylon into Miles’ care, but he wasn’t so sure he thought either of them were ready for something like that. Waylon was on 24/7 suicide watch at the moment so between that and the treatments he was receiving for the burns, and his inability/lack of motivation to feed himself, it would be a little bit longer yet until he was discharged. 

The last several weeks had been some of the most grueling either of them had ever experienced. Worrying about Waylon was exhausting, but what Waylon was going through…well, he _wished_ he didn’t know what it felt like, but he couldn’t in all honesty say that he didn’t. Of course, it wasn’t the same. In a way Miles had begun to feel like he was losing Jeremy long before he died, and he wasn’t sure how he even felt about notions like true love and all that. What he did know was that Waylon was a wreck without Eddie Gluskin. Their love had run deep and hard and though he knew Waylon was strong enough to pull through he could see Eddie’s reflection every time he stared at the faraway look in Waylon’s eyes. 

Waylon dreamt of Eddie every night; he knew he did even though sometimes he didn’t remember his dreams, either because his pillow was damp with tears when he woke up or because he awoke with the profound feeling that Eddie had just been there. He had terrible nightmares, sometimes night terrors, of the night of the fire and beyond. Watching Eddie disappear into the flames, running haplessly through a hell-scape as he tried to find him only to come up empty every time. He wondered…did Eddie try to escape once he realized what he’d done? Or did he accept it, giving himself willingly to the flames? Did he die thinking of Waylon, of his betrayal, of what might have been? Did he yell his name through a charred, blistering throat? How long did it take for him to burn to death, or did he suffocate first?

Miles could only look on helplessly, watching Waylon and wondering what it was he sat there thinking about all day long. 

 

 

 

 

The day before he was finally discharged, Waylon at last began speaking again. He hadn’t remembered making the conscious decision to speak, only remembered shouting at Dorene, his least favorite nurse, _don’t fucking touch me_ as she patted him on the shoulder in, what he perceived to be, a condescending way, and the rest from there had been…easier.

On the day Miles brought him home with him, Miles was, for the first time in a long while, nearly his old self again, all smiles and jokes and more obnoxious optimism than Waylon thought he even was aware of. As much as Miles was worried about Waylon’s recovery and his mental state, he was safe now. He could help him heal and move on, they could help each other. As grim as things were he could see into the bright futures that lay ahead for both of them and from here everything was going to get better. He just knew it. 

For now Waylon largely remained in a stupor, speaking sometimes, but hardly, and for the most part keeping to himself. He slept in the extra bedroom in Miles’ apartment and in fact spent most of his time there, getting as much sleep as he possibly could stomach until the moments when finally he’d be forced to come out of his room either by the urgings of Miles’ good intentions, or his own bladder. 

Although no one could say he was coping well, talking and eating was good. Talking and eating was progress. But the only problem was that Waylon didn’t _want_ progress. It was almost as if moving on was actively keeping Eddie dead. It was all one big, adult-sized tantrum on Waylon’s part and he was well aware of it. He supposed subconsciously his thinking was that if he could just show the world that he wouldn’t move on, that he refused to, then it would have to give Eddie back. If he held his breath and stamped his feet and stuck his fingers in his ears, lalalalala I’m not listening, then it would be forced to put Eddie back, with him, where he belonged. It wasn’t right. It wasn't fair. It didn’t seem possible that the world could be so lacking and wrong and yet everyone kept moving forward like it was nothing. He wanted everyone to feel his loss. He wanted to hurt them.

It hurt to think about Eddie, and it didn’t change anything, but he couldn’t stop. Miles did his best to keep him distracted, to keep him talking, engaging, but everything, everything brought him to mind. It was more than obsession, it was an incurable urge, his new state of being. Sometimes he tried to be strong. He tried to hold conversations. He tried to at least pretend like Eddie didn’t consume his every thought and he never, ever mentioned his name out loud, but much like when he had been alive, even when he was gone Eddie was always there, more so than ever. A song on repeat in his mind. A chorus of charming, mysterious smiles, a primal growl underlying professions of love, the heat of his hands, the tears in his eyes, and…

_“Darling…”_

_“You would never leave me, would you, darling?”_

_“I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to be afraid.”_

_“I’ll never let you go, darling…”_

_“You FUCKING HEARTLESS SLUT-”_

_“I trusted you…”_

_“If you leave me I’ll kill you.”_

_“You’re the only one who can save me…”_

_“Darling, why? Why?”_

_"Why?"_

_"Why?"_

_"Why?"_

“Waylon? …Waylon,” he heard Miles call to him across the table. He pulled his gaze up from his plate and stared at him vacantly, blinking away memories.

“What?”

“You zoned out like ten minutes ago…are you… gonna eat?” Miles asked carefully, eying Waylon’s untouched plate of steak and potatoes. Miles’ plate was empty already. 

“Oh…yeah….sorry,” he muttered and went back to poking at a piece of meat with his fork. There was a somewhat awkward silence as Waylon hesitantly played with his food and Miles watched him with a concerned look in his eyes. He finally forced himself to take a bite in hopes that Miles would stop staring at him like that. 

“You, uh…have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. You want me to drive you there?”

He could have been asking because Waylon’s hands weren’t yet perfectly healed, and the fresh new skin under his bandages still felt raw and sensitive, but he knew he was asking more because of his inability to focus on reality for more than a few minutes at a time, making driving inadvisable at best. 

“No thanks,” Waylon mumbled. There was a few seconds hesitation as he swallowed another meager mouthful of food and then he added, “I was thinking about…going back to the theater, just to…just to see it…tomorrow…”

Miles’ expression immediately became stormy. “Waylon, no, seriously, that’s a bad idea. You can’t just skip your…”

“It’s just to check the burns on my back, they’re fine.”

“Why do you wanna see that place anyway? I don’t even know if we can get in, it’s technically a crime scene, it’s all burnt out and-”

“I need to see it.”

Miles huffed in worry and frustration as his hand tapped anxiously at the table and he leaved heavily back in his seat. The last thing he wanted was Waylon going back to that crappy old wreck. No need to go chasing ghosts, and it would be dangerous for more reasons than one. He couldn’t explain those reasons to Waylon, but he would have to make him see sense.

“Do you? Really? You know what you’re gonna see.”

Did part of him really think that maybe Eddie would be there? He knew it was impossible, and yet he couldn’t believe it unless he went there for himself, to make sure. Some people might have said he couldn’t know for sure, they didn’t find Eddie’s body. But six of the bodies found were burned to the point that they were unidentifiable and Waylon knew that one of them was Eddie’s. How did he know? Because if Eddie had been alive he would have come for Waylon then, when he was certain that he was going to die. Someone had, but it hadn’t been Eddie. If it hadn’t been for Miles he would have been consumed by the flames as well. Eddie didn’t come for him, and the only way that would have happened was if Eddie was already gone. There was no doubt in his mind that he was dead, and yet part of him was still in denial. If he went there would he sense his presence in the charred wreckage that remained of the theater? Or would he no longer feel him there as he always had? If he felt only emptiness he didn’t think he’d be able to take it, but still he…wanted to try. 

“You can’t go back there. It’s not safe…not now, Waylon. No. No way. Someday maybe, but…”

Waylon stared down at his food blankly, feeling like a huge asshole for what he was about to say, but he couldn’t stop it. 

“I can’t just forget about it like you can. You have no idea what I’m going through, you’re glad Eddie’s dead.”

Miles hesitated for an instant. It was the first time he’d heard Eddie’s name since the fire. He was tempted to deny the accusation as hard as he could, but something about Waylon’s tone struck a nerve. Did he really think he could ever just forget about the things that happened? Waylon wasn’t the only one that had lost things, lovers, friends, the only one that still had nightmares, or the only one that was nearly too paranoid and skittish to function. Always he had the feeling that someone was watching him, stalking him like an animal. Being in the theater so often and knowing that somewhere in the shadows Eddie was lurking and plotting his death, it would have driven a man with weaker nerves mad. Sometimes at night when he lay in the dark and tried to fall asleep he thought he could still feel the rope around his neck…thought maybe if he listened close enough he could hear a soft melody, whistling or humming, carried on the wind. Did he lock the doors? Did he leave any of the windows open? Didn’t Waylon have any idea what he was going through? Did he even _care_? No. He didn’t. All he cared about, still, _still_ , was Eddie. 

“I am glad. Because we’re safe now. He can’t _hurt_ you anymore,” Miles threw back at him, a little harsher than he meant to. “There wasn’t any good left in him, Waylon, I don’t know what you thought you saw in Eddie Gluskin, but he proved to everyone that you were wrong. He killed all those people, he nearly killed you. So I say…good riddance.”

His words filled Waylon with a sick, clammy feeling and his hand trembled violently as he reached for his glass of water. He took an unsteady sip, spilling just as much liquid down his front as he managed to get in his mouth, and then placed the glass back on the table with a sturdy thunk. But instead of getting angry back, to Miles’ surprise Waylon just sat there, silent and empty and when he at last responded it was only to say, “I’m not hungry. Excuse me.” They each stood and Waylon went to his room without even looking at him. Miles called after him half heartedly, but in the end hung back to put away the rest of the food. 

He almost wished Waylon had decided to scream at him. Saying what he had made Miles feel like he'd hit him, watching Waylon as he was knocked to the ground and then watching him unable to get back up. Just laying there. He’d wanted to say those words, they’d been in the back of his mind for a long time and it was something he needed to say, but once he had he realized that he was mad at Waylon for not choosing him even when he was the only choice left. It was selfish and wrong, and not for the good intentioned reasons that he easily could have claimed. He felt a hot wash of shame run through him as the reality of his feelings came to light. 

Waylon was angry, but when it came down to it he didn’t have enough energy to be truly furious like he thought he should be. More than mad he felt…detached. He could feel himself voluntarily slipping away from Miles, pushing him away in response to his cruel words. He would never be able to accept the part of him that was Eddie, and for that he couldn’t forgive him. He wanted to be angry. He dug down deep inside himself, searching for the rage he craved, that he’d felt just earlier that day while bitterly pondering Miles’ cheery attitude, but found nothing like what he needed. Only despair, exhaustion, and helplessness met him in return and so there was nothing to do but sleep.

 

 

 

 

Miles apologized the next day. Although he never made it to his doctor’s appointment he also never made it to the theater. He was afraid of the way the empty wreckage might tarnish his precious memories, afraid the void would consume whatever remained of Eddie’s presence like a blackhole and when it came right down to it he simply couldn’t face it. Not yet. 

As the weeks went on he felt a distance growing between him and everyone that had ever been in his life. Miles tried, he really did, but even though he’d apologized for his words they’d left a great impact and he could never take them back. He couldn’t let go of the thought that not only Miles, but, in all likelihood, _everyone_ was glad that Eddie was dead. The fact that no one could see that Eddie had been worth saving tormented him. In many ways he thought that him and Eddie were one and the same. They weren’t as different as he’d initially thought. The dark, passionate side that Eddie brought out in him made him feel unstoppable. Weak prey for guys like Jeremy Blaire to hunt, selfless to a fault, the indecisive wall flower. That’s what he had been until Eddie came into his life. He was made better by his love and encouragement and hating Eddie, wishing him dead was an attack on the parts of him that he liked best.

Eventually he hated them all until he wasn’t just spending all his time alone because it was easier, but because he couldn’t stand to look at any of them. Lisa, Billy, and Dennis had all tried to visit them, but he didn’t want to see them. He tried to be civil, but he could see in their eyes that something had changed in him. Something was growing and he didn’t know what it was yet exactly, but it had begun to isolate him to the point that he couldn’t remember what it had been like to have people in his life that he cared about and relied on.

Miles had tried to kill Eddie. He was going to stab him to death right on that stage as Waylon held him in his arms. The thought hadn’t occurred to him until later, but once it did he couldn’t let it go. A moment of passion? The good intention to protect him? It didn’t matter. He wanted to take Eddie away from him and now that he was gone Miles was happy. Didn’t he care about what _he_ wanted? The two of them had at last been so close to happiness, and Miles had completely disregarded all his feelings and desires in favor of his own selfish ideas about what should happen. The more he dwelled on it without saying anything, the angrier he got until he stopped even feeling guilty for making Miles worry about him. Good. Let him squirm, let him sweat a little, he deserved it. It was his fault. It was everyone’s fault. It was the world’s fault, it had stolen Eddie from him. 

Yes, that was it…Eddie had been right all along. All anyone had ever wanted was to keep them apart. They didn’t care about love. They didn’t care about Eddie or Waylon’s happiness, all anyone cared about was…themselves. God, he was so _fucking blind._ Eddie hadn’t just died; he’d been taken. The world, God, fate, whatever higher power there might have been, if Waylon had believed in any of those things (and he didn’t) had wanted to separate them from the beginning. Life…was hell. Any meager rations of happiness they could weasel out of its mighty grip were merely scraps, things that fate had overlooked. They were meant to suffer, Waylon thought, and why, to learn lessons simply for the sake of, what, enlightenment? 

These were the ideas that Waylon went over and over until he was nauseas. None of it would change a thing. He didn’t want truth or personal growth. God could keep his petty rationales for letting this happen. From now on he would simply have to fight for every ounce of happiness, and then he’d have to fight to keep it, just as Eddie had fought to keep him. Just has he should have fought to keep Eddie. Too little too late, he thought bitterly. 

He was constantly torn between blaming others and blaming himself. He grappled with delusions and reality, anger and guilt, self-loathing and self-righteousness, searching for a balance that would get rid of the pain. The last thing he wanted to do was to go see his therapist, the same one he’d been seeing during his stay in the hospital. She was a nice enough woman, Dr. Barnett, but he didn’t think he could stand to think about the way he was feeling anymore than he already did. He decided to go anyway though, god only knows why, maybe because he felt guilty about not going, or maybe because Miles wouldn’t stop nagging him about it…or just maybe because he thought that for all the trouble it was worth he might actually be able to get a third party perspective on the chaos in his mind. He couldn’t be completely honest about it of course, but he’d come up with a way of explaining things that allowed him to say what he needed to say. 

“And Eddie, your boyfriend…you said he died in the Mount Massive fire?” Dr. Barnett asked with a genuinely sympathetic expression. 

“Yeah…” Waylon responded softly. 

“I’m so sorry, Waylon…” 

He nodded. There was a moment of silence and then he continued awkwardly, “So…so, like I said, my best friend Miles, he…never liked Eddie, considered him…abusive…assumed he was…but he wasn’t…nobody else liked him and I just feel like… it’s…” He paused and swallowed thickly. They were hardly fifteen minutes in and he was already going to cry? “I’m the only one that misses him…he didn’t have any other family or friends, it was just us…Miles told me he was _glad_ that Eddie was dead, he actually said it to my face.”

“That was more than a bit insensitive. Were you upset with him when he said that?”

Waylon looked at her, his brow furrowed with indecision. “I…I was…” He paused, and she waited for him to continue. “I was angry, but I was more…distant than that…from the situation I mean…does that make sense?” She nodded. “I could feel myself just sort of…pushing him away instead.”

“Instead of talking about your feelings?” she asked gently. He sighed and nodded then buried his face in his hands. He was quiet until she spoke again. “Why do you think you reacted that way instead of getting angry?”

“Because I was just so…tired…there wasn’t any…room to feel anything but…sad…and I didn’t have the energy to yell at him, it was easier just to…sleep…” He sighed. That sounded pathetic.

“You’re mourning…it’s not easy. Try not to be too hard on yourself, cut yourself a little slack. Like you would do for a friend if they lost someone close to them.” 

He gave her a tired look, but nodded. “That’s fair.” 

Eventually, they got onto the topic of his inability to adequately take care of himself. If it weren’t for Miles he surely would have starved or dehydrated to death by now.

“It’s…not that I try to make myself hungry, I just…don’t have an appetite and I keep…losing chunks of time.” Oh great, now she looked worried. “Not…not losing them, but I just sort of…lose track of how long it’s been since I got out of bed or when the last time I ate was. It’s hard to remind myself that I’m supposed to do these things. They seem so…insignificant.” That was true, but it would have been more true to say that sometimes he slipped into himself and couldn’t find his way back out for hours, even days. During that time it was like was both sleeping and awake, stuck in a fantasy world where nothing hurt, aware of his surroundings and yet actively keeping them at bay. It was a little scary…but he couldn’t be completely honest with her. He didn’t want to go back in the hospital under the pretense of a psychiatric emergency. 

“Even though they keep you alive they seem insignificant?”

“Well…frankly, yeah. Living is kind of the last thing on my mind. It’s never been this hard before just to…do…anything.”

She nodded in understanding. “It takes up a lot of energy to miss someone that’s died. You already said before how you spend a lot of time thinking about the way things were, blaming yourself, imagining what could have been.”

He glanced around, but there was no clock in sight. He hoped they were almost finished. He really was exhausted. “It’s all I have now…memories…the dreams of us that I used to have…”

“Do you think it’s impossible for you to ever feel happiness again?”

He paused, pressing his hand to his mouth as he nibbled anxiously on his bottom lip. Finally he responded, “…no…I can…experience some happiness, but I don’t think I’ll ever really be happy again.” He paused again, blinking away hot, angry tears. “It’s not fair…you know…that we didn’t even…get a chance. He had a miserable, wretched life and now he’ll never get that chance to…be happy…so why should I get to be happy? …it’s not fair…”

“Do you think he would see it that way? That he wouldn’t want you to be happy?” she asked softly. 

“…no.” He covered his eyes with one hand as she passed him the box of tissues. That just made him feel more guilty. 

“I’m not saying you have to feel happy right now. Being happy isn’t even something you need to think about right now. Processing your grief will take time…everything you’re feeling is valid.”

He nodded, staring down at his hands at they crumpled the damp remains of his tissue into a ball. 

“…I can’t stop thinking about him,” he eventually mumbled. “Even… when I want to…”

“Then don’t stop. If you can’t help it, let it be.”

A single fat tear rolled down his cheek and he wiped it away roughly. “But it hurts.” She nodded understandingly, but didn’t respond, so he continued. “It hasn't even been a month yet and I’m…so tired…it seems impossible to think that I’ll have to feel this way forever.”

“Your feelings may change over time. You may miss him forever, but other things may change. The more time you spend processing your feelings, the more they’ll evolve.”

He knew she was right and yet he couldn’t help but think about how unbearable it would be to have to accept that he would never see him again. The last time he ever saw him would be when he ran from the warehouse; if he’d have only known that was their last moment together he would have stayed. Nothing would have been able to take him away. He would have thrown himself at Eddie, grabbed him in his hands, and kissed him until he understood. He would have made him see that he wasn’t alone. Instead he left him behind when he needed him the most. If he had been there when he’d set the fire none of this would have ever happened, and Eddie would still be alive. Waylon didn’t know how he was supposed to live with that.

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t until Waylon wandered away from the apartment that Miles realized how much he was silently struggling. On the surface things weren’t right, but he never imagined he’d pull something like this. While Waylon was sleeping Miles had left the house just to visit Lisa and update her, as well as ask for some advice, but when he got back… he was gone. 

Waylon was only dimly aware of the ache in his feet as he made his way to the theater. He’d been walking for about an hour now, but he was nearly there. He recognized the street he was on from driving there and within minutes he arrived at the theater’s blackened shell. From the outside it wasn’t as different as he’d been expecting, in fact it was mostly intact. The stone itself remained in large part, but the windows were shattered and he could already see the black, smoky scars where flames had licked at the frame as if trying to escape. It was a quiet, peaceful night and he could hear the wind howl softly as it whistled through the building’s charred skeleton. 

He made his way carefully into the theater through the main entrance. The large wooden doors were damaged, but not destroyed, and they opened easily with an ominous creak that echoed throughout what had once been the lobby. He hadn’t had the foresight to grab a flashlight, much like how he hadn’t had enough money for gas to get himself here, but luckily his lack of preparation didn’t leave him totally without light. Many parts of the theater’s structure hadn’t been stone, and now much of what had been was now ash, collapsing enough of the walls and ceiling to allow the light from the moon and stars to aid him. It was just enough to see by so that he could use his familiarity to his advantage in navigating the rubble. The once regal entranceway was completely decimated and as he stepped down through the soot filled hallway leading to the auditorium he dreaded what he would see. It was eerily quiet and still, the silence only shifted by the wind or his ash-cushioned footsteps. 

He was afraid, not because of what might be there, but because of what he knew was long gone. The grand, bustling scene that had once been Mount Massive Theater was now hardly more than a corpse. In his mind he could still hear the orchestra playing, the dull roar of an excited crowd. It was almost enough to cause him to not be strong enough to open the auditorium’s doors, but he managed it once he reminded himself that this was why he had come. Still, he wasn’t prepared for what he saw. The large room was familiar in size and shape. The metal frames of the once crimson upholstered seats were still mostly intact. Several of the box seats had collapsed. The curtains were gone and what was left of the stage seemed pitiful and barren without them. Too much of the stage had burned away for it to even be called that, and he was sure that what was left wasn’t safe to stand on. The glorious chandelier that had once hung proudly over the heads of the audience had fallen, once its tethers had burned away, and its remains lay shattered among the metal of the seats, surrounding it like a sea of tombstones.

Everything was black, he noted as he stepped down through an aisle towards the stage. He paused, closing his eyes just for a moment, and tried to imagine that he could bring them both back in time. He gave up almost as soon as he had started and then moved on, heading for the warehouse. By the time he reached it, he could no longer recall why he had ever come. 

It was a little over another hour until Miles reached him. As soon as he saw that someone had forced the warehouse door ajar, scraping a clean path through the ashes, he knew that he would find Waylon inside. He called his name and got no response, but he was there, though it was hard to see him at first. Much of the contents of the space had been burned away, leaving a large, empty floorspace scattered with bits of debris that had melted, but somehow survived. Miles shone his flashlight over the room.

“Waylon! …Waylon!” his voice echoed back to him as he gasped with relief. “Jesus christ, Waylon, what are you doing?” He was there, kneeling in the ashes and muttering incoherently. Miles might have not even heard him if he hadn’t first noticed that his lips were moving as he ran to his side, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him to his feet. At first Waylon seemed hardly aware of his presence, but he began to struggle and speak louder as Miles tried to lead him away. He jerked his armed back and fell back to the floor, murmuring rapidly. 

“-know you’re here, I won’t forget you, I won’t forget you, they can’t make me, I’ll be waiting for you you hear me I’m waiting for you I know you’re here I-”

“Waylon, come on, this-” he stopped, realizing it would be useless to try to communicate with him. He hooked his arms under Waylon’s and forced him to his feet then started pulling him back to the car. He didn’t protest, but he physically resisted as his voice increased in volume and desperation. 

“-because it’s _not_ , it’s not, you hear me, I know you can hear me, don’t let them, I’m still here I’m still _fighting_ , no, NO,” he finally yelled as Miles dragged him away. He pulled him out to the car and strapped him into the passengers seat where Waylon promptly proceeded to collapse against the car door and sob pitifully. Miles was both freaked out and exasperated. He wanted to stop to comfort him, but for the time being he thought it was more important to focus on getting him home.

Once there, he tried to convince him to bathe, but that was clearly a losing battle. 

“Waylon…please, just…” he sighed and rubbed his temples, inadvertently rubbing soot onto his face in the process. His hands were covered in it after manhandling Waylon. He reached over and gently coaxed Waylon into the bathroom. He was filthy, covered head to toe in in the black powder. It was patted over his messy blonde hair and tracked across his gaunt face, broken in pale lines only by the places where tears had slipped down his cheeks and cleared a path. No doubt he’d want to lay in bed after this, but he couldn’t let him in this state. He sat him down on the edge of the tub with a motherly expression on his face.

“Here, take off your shirt,” he encouraged softly. Waylon obeyed, slowly peeling off his shirt and dropping it carelessly to the tiled floor. Any modesty or shyness he would have once had was gone. His body was just a shell, he was not there. Taking a wet washcloth, Miles sat beside him on the edge of the tub and began the task of wiping him down. For a while they were both silent as Miles concentrated on the task at hand and Waylon gazed sorrowfully at the wall, then Miles spoke quietly. 

“What were you thinking…running off like that…I would have driven you when I got back if you’d asked…”

Waylon doubted that. He knew very well that Miles never wanted him to go. He’d left when he was gone partially so that he couldn’t stop him. He didn’t respond. 

“…you could have gotten really hurt in there…I don’t want anything to happen to you, Way…” Waylon thought he sounded scared, and it sent a fresh wave of guilt through him. Oh, Miles. “What if more of the building collapsed… like if you messing around in there shifted things, and…” He paused and sighed heavily as he took Waylon’s face in both hands and rubbed the washcloth firmly over his cheek. Miles went quiet for a time, thinking about the things that could have happened to him in the theater, vulnerable and alone. 

He got Waylon to wash his hair on his own somewhat as he got out some medical supplies from under the sink to changes his bandages. The skin grafting treatments had been terribly painful, but now his burns had healed enough that he could function on his own just so long as he had someone to change his bandages for him. The portion of his back where he’d had the surgery was about a foot in length and it was sore, but healing well. The palms of his hands and the pads of his fingers had suffered the second greatest amount of damage, from the manner in which he’d torn through hot debris in his frantic search for Eddie. Those burns weren’t as severe, but it was their pain that he remembered the most vividly. He watched as Miles unwrapped his hands, recalling how he’d collapsed and cradled them to his chest, marveling at the giant, glistening blisters that had erupted across the pale skin. They were still red and painful, but not anything close to the state they’d once been in. He winced as Miles tugged the bandage away from the wound as gently as he possibly could.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, but kept his attention focused completely on his work. At one point the sight of his burns had made him nauseas, but by now he was a pro and he did what had to be done with relative ease. Once his skin had been patted dry enough to secure the bandages with medical tape, Miles grabbed a towel and began drying Waylon’s hair. He didn’t want his hands getting wet after his A+ nursing job. 

Waylon peered up at him shyly from under the towel. He felt like a puppy on the finishing end of a reluctant bath, but he was grateful. As Miles looked down at him, he couldn’t help but smile briefly as the same thought occurred to him.

“You and your puppy eyes…” He sighed, patted his head, and went to get him some clean clothes. 

Waylon sat on the edge of the tub in a daze as thoughts passed feverishly through his mind. He couldn’t let Miles know what he was thinking yet, but he was _sure_ of what he had seen at the theater. Or, rather, okay, he hadn’t actually _seen_ anything, but he could sense it, Eddie’s presence, as if he’d been close by only moments before his arrival. It was invigorating, it was terrifying, what if he was wrong? Was he finally losing his grip? No, no way, it was him, it had to be him, he had to be alive. There wasn’t another option. The theater was gone, but he had to believe that Eddie was not. All the evidence told him Eddie was dead, in fact there was very little, _nothing_ to point him to the contrary, but that familiar prickle on the back of his neck, his hair standing on end, that feeling of being watched so intently, so fervently that it was impossible not to notice. He’d felt it as he crouched there, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he? 

No, of course it was real, of course he was alive, he’d known it all along. 

But if that were the case then why hadn’t Eddie come to him? He’d waited for nearly an hour, talking to him, pleading with him, but got no response. No, but of course, Eddie was just angry with him still. He would just have to make him see, he could show him that they were meant to be together, that nothing less would do. He wouldn’t settle for any less. He would make Eddie see reason. 

As Miles returned he stopped and noticed for the first time a strange…fervor in Waylon’s eyes. The vacant stare itself was familiar, but there was something tremulous, almost eager underneath. It was…unsettling, to say the least. Worrisome. Maybe he was imagining things, but even so he had a dreadful feeling that although Eddie had sunk into the ashes of the theater, memories of his existence would plague their lives for a long time yet. The Phantom hadn’t finished with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barnett: Derived from place originating from Old English bœrnet "cleared by burning". Haha. 
> 
> If you're reading this right now then thanks so much for sticking with me for nearly 100,000 words. If you're still reading this damn thing then you must be as crazy as I am, and I applaud you. 
> 
> There's a lot of mystery going on in this chapter, so if something doesn't seem right it may make more sense later on. As always, constructive criticism appreciated c: thanks!


	2. Till I Hear You Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon and Miles spend some time pretending that all is well, but you can't hold the past or the future at bay forever. The only thing to do is find some way to move forward and sometimes that can get a little bit...messy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is some graphic gore in this chapter in the last couple paragraphs. Sorry if this is a spoiler, but this is a major self-harm trigger warning and I don't want to risk not saying it ahead of time.

“You…wanna go grocery shopping? Alone?” Miles asked skeptically. Waylon frowned back at him. 

“Yeah, why not?”

“Why not?” Miles said, his look of appraisal disbelieving as he sat back into the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. “Waylon, you haven’t been out in public _once_ since you got back from the hospital almost a month ago and now you wanna go grocery shopping. Alone. Are you going to drive yourself? Do you want me to drop you off?”

Waylon sighed patiently, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t amused by what he thought was Miles’ overreaction. “Sure, it’s not like I forgot how to drive. I have plenty of savings, I can pay for gas, I’d just have to go down to the bank first and-”

“Go to the bank?! Go to the bank, what, what is this, what are you- go to the bank?” Miles exclaimed, waving his hands emphatically as he stood up. “What is up with you? It has been like pulling teeth just to get you out of your room and now you…”

Waylon almost felt like laughing as he headed back into the kitchen, until Miles followed him looking seriously worried. He should have known it wouldn’t be so easy. “I can wait until you’re free and we can go together if that makes you feel any better,” he offered as he turned back to look at him patiently.

“Mm, yeah, actually, that would make me feel better. I just uh…” He paused, unsure of whether or not he wanted to go down this road right now. “You’ve been…acting kinda odd ever since you went to the theater a couple weeks ago. Did something happen, or…do you just feel different because of that? Or something?” Miles leaned against the kitchen counter and watched him as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket. 

Waylon thought his question over carefully, but he didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about it and risk looking suspicious. “Yeah…I…feel a little different. It just…gave me a little bit of…closure.” Wow, Waylon, really, he thought to himself. Closure? That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. If anything it was more like his little trip had opened up a whole new can of worms, worms that he honestly wasn’t quite interested in catching. 

Of course Miles didn’t look convinced. “Closure…is that so….well that’s….good…” He was hesitant about his response for a lot of reasons, but the big one was that people didn’t just go changing so much overnight. They didn’t just go from out of commission to self-sufficiency in the course of twenty-four hours. The very next day after his return Waylon had _showered_ and then he’d _shaved_ and _put on clothes_. For no reason, just to hang around the house in. Who does that? He’d have thought that Waylon would be especially miserable after his visit to the theater, but so far it’d had the exact opposite effect. 

The only thing Waylon could do was avoid eye contact as inconspicuously as possible. Nothing had happened since then, and yet for him everything had changed. If he told Miles that, then he would think he was crazy and maybe part of him _was_ crazy, maybe even a big part, but he was happier this way. He felt better for the first time since the fire and he wasn’t going to question it. Questions might lead to answers that he didn’t want. He hadn’t gone there looking for answers; he’d gone there looking for a reason to keep going, and he’d found it.

If he could just believe hard enough that Eddie was alive he would be able to make it. He was buying his fragile sanity more time.

But he couldn’t tell Miles. Not yet. Not until he had proof, or something like it. 

“I think I’ve just been in shock…I still wish…I still feel terrible, but it’s…real for me now…if that makes any sense.” 

It did. It did make sense, in fact it made too much sense. It was almost too perfect, almost too close to what he wanted to hear. Was he just being paranoid because...? Maybe. 

“Well…” he walked over and affectionately placed his hand on Waylon’s shoulder. “I hope that’s really what it is…I’ve missed you.”

Ignoring the twinge of guilt he felt, he gave Miles half a smile. “Let’s go….tomorrow then? Dinner’s on me.”

 

 

 

Dr. Barnett thought it was great that he wanted to get back into cooking. She said he seemed a lot better since the last time they’d met. He told her a little bit about going to the theater and what that had felt like, and he told her about how nervous he’d been going out in public for the first time in a long time. He left out the parts about him seeing things, hearing things, and the familiar sensation of being stalked that he’d felt ever since he’d returned home that night. It was indescribably comforting, but she wouldn’t understand. She would think he was crazy, like Miles did. 

It started with a single black peony that he’d found on his bedside table. He woke up with a start upon the realization that its sweet smell was not part of his dream, but part of reality; it was just sitting there, as innocent and unassuming as could be. He reached out and carefully took it as if he was afraid it would disappear before his fingers could reach it, but it felt thick and solid and _real_ in his hand. He breathed in the calming scent, and smiled, excited. 

Eddie. 

He set the flower down and went off to the bathroom, returning within a minute a minute or two, but by the time he returned to grab the flower and show Miles, it had vanished. Over and over again in the following days he’d thought to himself, was it ever even really there? Had he imagined the whole thing? It was possible, but as far as he was concerned it just confirmed what he already knew. It was evidence. Overthinking things, that had always been his problem, hadn’t it?

A few days later it was a snippet of song, one he knew well, a single verse from his first show, _Summer’s End_. It was part of the chorus in _Think of Me_. 

_Recall those days, look back on all those times,_ Think of the things we'll never do,  
There will never be a day,  
When I won’t think of you 

He hadn’t been able to hear it clearly, just loud enough over the sound of the shower to recognize which lines of the song had been sung. He also thought he might have recognized the voice, but it couldn’t be. He hurriedly turned off the shower and went in search of the song’s source, but to no avail. Nothing, like he had just been there and then had vanished, just like the flower. 

As maddening as the strange events were, they gave him hope.

Making dinner for Miles was the most fun he’d had in a while, and Miles seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. As skeptical as he was about Waylon’s miraculous sudden recovery he was willing to take any possible sign that things were getting better at face value. Neither of them could afford to be picky. It was like they were a family, and Waylon, to his delight, had never felt so much like the housewife he’d imagined one day playing for Eddie. 

The next few months were peaceful if only because neither of them had the courage to bring up the inevitable. Neither of them would speak Eddie’s name. If things had stayed that way forever Miles would have been content for quite some time. Far off into the distant future they may have even become a couple, if Waylon’s obsession with Eddie could have been kept at bay long enough. They would have been some version of happy. It would have been a secure, sound relationship based off of mutual affection and trust. Waylon would stay home and live an ordinary life of domesticity while Miles’ career supported them. They would quarrel regularly about past wrongs neither of them could quite get passed, both knowing that if Waylon had been able to choose he would have chosen Eddie over Miles, but they would live with it, speaking Eddie’s name as little as possible. That could have been the way things went, if only, Miles would think later, Eddie had had the decency to stay dead. 

“I think I like having a wife,” Miles teased cheerfully as he sat down at his usual spot and watched Waylon set the table. Waylon smirked a little. 

“That’s sexist as fuck, Miles, Lisa would kick your ass if she heard you say that.” 

“Oh my god, please don’t tell her, I was just kidding-”

Waylon laughed and sat down to eat with a smile that wasn't all there. “I won’t, I won’t…”

If only they could stay safe and comfortable forever. For Miles’ sake he wished it could be that way, but… it couldn’t. Not for much longer. Some things were more important than making do with what you were handed. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t just take the happiness that life allowed him. He knew what he wanted now and he was willing to fight for it, even knowing that there was a fair chance that he would ruin everything in the process of chasing a fantasy.

They ate in silence for a while. Miles knew something was up, but he wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up if he could possibly help it. Some part of him just knew it had something to do with _him_ , maybe because of what he already knew that Waylon didn’t, or maybe it was just because of the faraway look in Waylon’s eyes, an expression he recognized from before.

He nearly cringed when Waylon began, “So, I need to tell you about something…”

Miles stopped abruptly, and lowered the forkful of food back down to his plate. “…yeah?” He stared back at Waylon as he fumbled for the words, unable to meet his gaze.

Waylon had promised himself he would just say it. Neither of them were a fan of bullshit, but actually telling him something he’d been hiding from him for months was easier said than done. He’d tried so hard to make sure that he was certain Eddie was alive before he conveyed the news. There was a long, very tense pause, and then suddenly he couldn’t stop it from coming out. 

“Eddie’s alive,” he breathed, looking up at Miles, exhilarated and breathless. 

Miles stared at him expressionless, but wary. He couldn’t bring himself to respond. 

Waylon grinned; he was having a hard time suppressing his giddiness now that the charade was finally over. He’d intended to convey the news with a grim severity, but now that it was happening his plan was quickly unraveling. “He’s alive…he’s alive, Miles.”

“I thought we were finally over this…” he muttered with barely contained frustration. 

“It’s true, I swear, he’s…he’s back, he’s been leaving me flowers, and gifts. He’s outside my window at night, and the other day I-”

“-impossible, you know it is, Eddie _is dead_ , Waylon, he-” Miles began, talking over him. 

“-but I know it was him, I could just tell, ever since that night in the theater-”

“-don’t know what you’re saying, there’s no way you saw him, it’s not possible-”

“-and I don’t know what’s going to happen now exactly, but eventually he’ll come for me and-”

“Shut up!” Miles yelled suddenly, shooting to his feet and bumping the table hard enough to send their glasses of water toppling over, clinking noisily against the plates and silverware. Waylon stared at him, frozen in place with surprise. “Don’t, don’t, Waylon. I should have known you would pull this, that’s what this has all been about this entire time, is it? That’s why you’re so… so goddamn cheerful?” Miles vaguely registered the thought that he should stop shouting, but he couldn’t help it, it just kept coming and coming and- “I’ve been taking care of you all this time and where has he been? He’s DEAD, Waylon, you’re out of your god damned mind! Is that what you really think, that he’s going to swoop in and save you after all this time? Save you, from what, from me? He’s gone and he’s never coming back, get it through your thick skull, fuck!”

He turned and stormed out of the kitchen, Waylon following close behind as Miles grabbed his jacket and threw it on in a hurry. 

“Miles, what does any of that have to do with-”

“I’ll tell you what it has to do with it,” he yelled as he spun back around and pointed at him angrily. “You and fucking _Eddie Gluskin_ deserve each other, that’s what, but I hate to break it to yah, I’m all you’ve got left!” He swung the door open violently and then slammed it in Waylon’s face. 

“Fuck,” Miles swore under his breath passionately. He was sure in the beginning that if he just let Waylon think that Eddie was dead that everything else would fix itself somehow, but even when he was Waylon’s only choice he wouldn’t pick him. He wasn’t sure whether Waylon was crazy or not, but he didn’t think so. Eddie had probably been stalking them both this entire time, just waiting to make his move. He wouldn’t give up on Waylon so easily, he should have realized that long ago, but he’d just hoped that…that with Eddie out of the picture Waylon would see that Miles needed him. He didn’t have anyone else after Jeremy- …what made Eddie so fucking special? Maybe he should have just accepted it a long time ago, that Waylon would never have feelings for him.

As he walked off into the night, ranting and raving silently, there was one thought that kept coming back to him over and over again: why did Jeremy have to die? If he were here now…Miles never would have even looked Waylon’s way if Jeremy had still been in the picture, much like how Waylon probably felt about Eddie. He let out a bark of laughter, loud and angry. God, they were just one and the same, weren’t they? Their situations really weren’t that different, only Waylon still had his psychopath, while Miles’ “Eddie” was long gone. Fuck that. Fuck them both, let them ride off happily ever after into the fucking sunset. 

It was hard for Waylon to feel bad for Miles after he’d stormed out. Miles couldn’t expect him to realize Eddie might still be alive and just ignore it and yet he was acting like he didn’t even have the right to bring it up. He wanted to pretend like Eddie was dead and just let the whole thing blow over; he didn’t believe for a second, now that he knew the truth, that Miles still believed Eddie was definitively dead. Somewhere deep down he must have known the truth the way Waylon did. 

Waylon plopped back down at the table and began stabbing the rest of his dinner violently onto his fork. He was determined to finish this meal, with or without Miles, fine, let him go hungry. Maybe he’d eat his food too, he fumed childishly. But he wasn’t the only one being childish, Miles was being childish, he’d started it! Would Miles ever be able to accept his undeniable connection to Eddie the way he himself finally had, or would there always be this struggle standing between them? If things continued on like this then surely it would ruin their friendship. The thought made his chest hurt. He heaved a heavy sigh and set down his fork. He couldn’t let that happen just because Miles had feelings for him. 

Without his anger even having the chance to subside he found himself contemplating ways he might be able to make it up to Miles somehow. He’d been there for him through everything, always looking out for him, and whether or not Miles believed it Waylon would have done the same for him if he ever got the chance. Eddie had wanted him to choose between his own freedom and Miles’ life, and the decision had been an easy one. He would have done anything to keep them both safe. He understood Miles’ pain, but only to the degree that he could and it wasn’t ever going to be enough to make him leave Eddie behind. Knowing that was likely where Miles’ anger really came from, though he wasn't sure whether or not Miles even knew that himself. 

Now everything came down to dealing with Eddie’s return. Without sparing a thought for the possibility that he was delusional, he turned his attention to the matter of drawing Eddie out of hiding. He still must have believed that Waylon had intentionally betrayed him. He didn’t think that was a reasonable reaction considering he’d spent too many hours over the last month or two talking out loud to Eddie at random intervals whenever he thought he might be able to hear him, but he couldn’t figure out what else could be keeping him in the shadows. On the occasions when he’d had reason to believe Eddie was nearby he’d asked for forgiveness, begged him to come back, and told him to stop being an idiot. Waylon was vulnerable, willing, ripe for the taking and Eddie was…hesitating. It didn’t make the least bit of sense. His task from here on out would be to somehow find a way to lure Eddie to him. He would have to be completely irresistible to him to bring him out of hiding, whatever his reasons were for keeping his distance. He didn’t know how he was going to do that, but what he did know was that if he wanted his happy ending he was going to have to fight for it, whether Miles liked it or not. 

After taking a few hours to cool off, Miles returned looking glum, but calm. He had decided that he needed to keep up the charade, for Waylon’s sake. Waylon thought he knew what he wanted, but he was wrong. He wanted Eddie, but Eddie was no good for him. The only thing Miles could do now to keep Waylon safe was to deny everything. That was the plan. 

It made him feel microscopically better when he entered the apartment to see Waylon huddled up on the couch, both feet off the floor, and one leg crossed over the other as his foot bounced up and down at a rapid, nervous pace. He only had an instant to register the picture before Waylon’s head snapped around, he froze, and then jumped to his feet. 

“Miles! …Miles…I’m sorry, I…” he fumbled. 

He shook his head as he sighed and took off his jacket. “It’s okay…I overreacted.” 

Waylon frowned at him with concern and guilt. “I haven’t exactly…shown my appreciation for everything you’ve done and now this, I…I should have known you wouldn’t take it well.” He thought he heard Miles scoff under his breath in response, but he couldn’t be sure.

Miles sighed, hung up his jacket, and walked over to him slowly. “Waylon…” Be nice now, Miles, he reminded himself. “…Eddie _is_ dead. I only got upset because I’m worried about you.” He lead him over to the couch and plopped down on it with him, noting Waylon’s look of confusion and surprise. Miles took his hand gently and looked into his eyes. He was the one to look concerned now. “Waylon. Eddie can’t be… leaving you gifts, and… doing the things you said, he’s gone. You said it yourself. All this time you’ve been…I thought you were getting to the point where you could accept it, but this is just, it's all backwards, it’s not good. This is bad, Way, you’re in denial, it’s…”

All Waylon could do was stare at him, shocked and upset. He hadn’t expected that. A big part of him thought that Miles would fess up, admit that he also suspected Eddie was alive, or that he knew something Waylon didn’t. What he didn’t think would happen was that Miles would totally deny it and, for all intents and purposes, call him crazy. 

After a moment or two he slowly shook his head, muttering in a much shakier voice than he’d anticipated, “You’re lying…that’s…impossible, the flowers and the…the music and…”

“Black peonies? I buy you flowers all the time, Way, I know that kind’s your favorite,” he said softly with a regretful look in his eyes. “Look, I think…I think your mind is playing tricks on you. Because you want these things to be signs that Eddie never died, but the truth is that he’s never coming ba-”

Waylon had a stronger punch than he’d expected. He put his hand over his face where he’d just hit him, stunned by the blow, and when he looked up at Waylon he was panting and glaring at him with tears in his eyes. “You…you lying son of a bitch!” he spat before jumping to his feet and storming off towards his room, but Miles followed, rubbing his cheek and jaw with a wince. 

“It’s the truth, Waylon, you’re just-”

“I’m just _what_ exactly, Miles, I’m crazy? I’m losing my grip, is that what you’re trying to say? You’re a real piece a’ trash, you know that?” he went into his room, but Miles followed him in before he could close the door. He looked angry now too. Waylon wondered if his face would bruise; he hoped it would. 

“I’m trying to _help_ you, you fucking nut job, why would I lie to you?”

“Because,” he shot back with a sob as he spun around to face him, “you never wanted Eddie to be alive, not now, not ever! You just want me to think he’s dead so I won’t go looking for him!”

“If Eddie Gluskin were alive don’t you think he would have come by now?” he shouted. Waylon faltered at this and for a moment they each just stood there, letting Miles’ words resonate off the stark, empty walls. 

“…don’t say that…” Waylon muttered, his voice trembling. 

“You thought the same thing, didn’t you? Why hasn’t he come back for you if he’s alive?”

“Don’t, don’t say that, shut up!” Waylon shrieked as he covered his ears tightly and sank onto the bed. 

“Waylon-”

“Get out! GET OUT,” he screamed, and continued screaming until Miles finally obeyed, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving Waylon to think about what he’d said. 

Miles had to be lying about what he really thought…he had to be. He _had_ to be, but why? Because he was jealous? Because he wanted to protect him? But what if…if he was right? All the signs, all the lingering shadows he’d thought he’d seen, the singing, the presents, what if he’d fabricated all of them? And what wasn’t entirely fabricated could have been his mind’s own embellishments on tidbits of reality. Miles buying him his favorite flowers, which Waylon didn’t even know he knew about and had assumed couldn’t have been from him. Songs, all from the shows except for the old-fashioned one Eddie used to sing, both of which Miles had heard before. But it had been Eddie’s voice…hadn’t it?

He cried out and clutched the sides of his head as he doubled over. No. No no no no no. It was like Eddie was dying all over again in his mind. He watched as tears blurred his vision completely and then fell thickly to the floor. It was a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. There was no way for him to know whether or not he was crazy, except…did he trust Miles, or…did he trust Eddie? He had trusted them both completely before everything, before the fire, before he started performing, before Miles’ “accident”, and now he felt like he couldn’t trust either of them. He couldn’t even trust himself, least of all himself. 

The only thing he could do, he thought, was to prove his faithfulness to Eddie now, _show_ him that when all was lost he would turn to him. There was no way for him to know whether he was losing his mind or not. It was impossible to tell what the right choice was, but he couldn’t let Eddie down again. Believing in him was the only choice he could make.

“Eddie…I’m coming,” he muttered before standing and grabbing his cellphone off the bedside table from its charger. He quietly went out into the hallway and paused, listening. He could see a light under the crack of the bathroom door and heard the sink running. Miles was probably washing his face in cold water to calm himself down or something of the like, he’d seen him do it before. Taking care to keep as quiet as possible, Waylon left his bedroom light on and closed the door behind him. He crept down the hall, grabbed his car keys off the post by the door, and snuck out. He hopped in the car and peeled out of the parking lot, blasting his favorite CD as soon as he got the chance. He didn’t care what Miles said. Crazy? He’d show him crazy. 

He pulled up to the street the theater was on and turned into the parking lot of a nearby apartment complex. He killed the engine, double checked that the phone he’d be using for a flashlight was in his pocket, and got out to walk to the theater. He didn’t want anyone to see a car parked at the burned out building and call the cops. 

Coming back to the theater, desolate or not, still felt like coming home. In fact, he thought suddenly, why not take a little spin by his own apartment? He hadn’t been back since the fire. Unfortunately, being close to the warehouse and therefore Eddie’s lair, the places in which the fire had started, his apartment and nearly everything in it had been a total loss. He felt a ghost of sadness in his chest upon seeing the empty doorway where his front door used to be before stepping inside and raising his phone’s camera light to the charred remnants of his old home. Everything was still and quiet, but not exactly peaceful. If anything it was unsettling, like the inside of a mausoleum. It had never been a particularly welcoming place even during the day and in its best condition, with its peeling wallpaper and only three windows to its name, but now it was downright creepy. Everything, everything was black and crumbling. The couched where he’d once straddled Eddie stood in the center of the room, dark and crumbling like one large dead ember in a campfire. Anything that wasn’t burned black was stained by dark smoke, straight up to the ceiling. A section of the ceiling had caved in. He recalled what Miles had said about it being unsafe, and then recalled that Miles was an asshole and fuck him. 

Good, he thought, if it was so dangerous then let Eddie come and save him. Surely watching him put himself into a perilous situation would force him to drop his little game? He crept further into the apartment, stepping carefully around debris, and made his way into the kitchen. Immediately he saw them: a vase, brand new, sitting in the center of the kindling that the kitchen table had become, and in it a bouquet of black and purple peonies. Fresh as if they’d been cut yesterday. He rushed toward them, looking around as if Eddie would still be here, then looked back to the flowers, breathless, the sound of his heartbeat pumping loudly in his ears. He was here, he’d been here, and recently. As if to test that they were real, he reached out and held the head of one of the flowers in his hand. It was soft, and he could smell them easily when he was this close, mingling with the scent of an old fireplace. They were beautiful. The most beautiful thing he'd seen since he'd last seen Eddie.

Nearly panting, he turned around and looked over the kitchen, listening. “Eddie?” He waited. Nothing. “Eddie…please…if you’re here…if you can hear me, I…I need you…I need you here with me…”

He coaxed, and he waited, but was disappointed, as usual. He sighed heavily, coughed, and left the apartment. He’d think about coming back another day to see if any of his possessions had been spared, but he doubted there was anything worth saving. 

Next was the warehouse, and from there, if he could find the entrance, Eddie’s workshop. He slipped in through the heavy metal door and held up his phone to light the way as he maneuvered through the remaining debris. After a moment of exploration he found the spot in which he’d been kneeling marked up in the soot. He sighed and sank back into it on his knees, hanging his head sadly and starting to wonder if he should give up and go home, but just then he noticed other marks in the soot nearby that didn't look so familiar. He stared ahead, shining his flashlight over the floor and…footprints. There were _footprints_ in the soot, vague smudges though they were. Could it have been an animal? No, no, they were definitely somewhat shoe shaped, far enough apart to be human steps. Eddie had been here! After Waylon had left, Eddie had come out of hiding then, but why? Why?

“Eddie!” he shouted into the empty space. He paused, listening to the echo and the silence that followed it, before calling out again. “Eddie, I know you’re there!” What if he was manufacturing all of this in his mind. Crazy people didn’t know they were crazy. Is this what it felt like? “…jesus…am I insane…?” he mumbled, tired, upset, and confused. 

He waited for a while before moving on, about twenty minutes, hesitant to leave another obvious clue behind, a seemingly unintentional hint to Eddie’s whereabouts. He kneeled there, listening to the nighttime sounds, cars off in the distance driving by, the creaks and cracks of the building. When he finally decided to continue looking around he began searching for a way down into Eddie’s hideaway, his secret place. Would it even be accessible at this point? And another question he didn’t want to address until he was forced to: was he even brave enough to go back down there? Not just because it was creepy at the moment, but because it really could be quite dangerous, a precarious position to be in where he risked the possibility of getting trapped under the floor of the theater. Who knew if anybody would even find him if that happened? Still, he pressed on, and eventually was able to find an opening in the floor, the tunnel that he’d used before…the one he’d traveled down during the fire, leading to the place he’d been trapped in the flames. 

He stared down into the charred hole, suddenly so afraid that his heart seemed to stop in his chest.

He took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy rush of air, then he made his way down into the hole, shining his light every which way and trying to be as cautious and light-footed as possible. He really, really didn’t want to get trapped down here. The tunnel itself seemed longer than usual, but even so he wasn’t exactly glad when he at last came to the end. Eddie’s once beautiful workshop, filled to the brim with fabrics and fantastical costumes, gowns and suits and masks and grandeur he never could have imagined if he hadn’t seen it himself. All of it was gone. Not a single scrap of material remained. At least he still had his wedding dress, he thought sadly. He’d been wearing it the night he’d escaped and so it was the only thing that remained, damaged, but spared unwillingly from the flames, although it nearly hadn’t been. 

“Oh, Eddie…” he muttered woefully, “…all your beautiful work…how could you do something like this…?”

For a few minutes he wandered around the large empty room, looking for anything at all that might be signs of Eddie’s presence, but he couldn’t find anything definitive, not before a hand grasped his shoulder tightly and spun him around.

“Waylon!” Miles cried furiously, though every line of his face was etched in worry. “God, you fucking idiot, what are you doing here? What are you trying to do? You’re gonna get yourself killed.” He clasped Waylon’s hand in his tightly and began leading him back home. He thought about protesting, but he didn’t have the heart to once he felt Miles’ hand shaking. He told him in the car that he’d noticed he wasn’t in his room about half an hour after he’d left, once he’d knocked on his door to talk to him, gone in, and found him missing. 

“Jesus, I was so worried,” Miles muttered as they pulled out of the theater’s parking lot in Miles’ car, planning on coming back for Waylon’s in the morning. Waylon couldn’t help but feel guilty. “I didn’t know where you’d gone, what you’d do…that place is dangerous, collapsing, you can’t just…god, you’re gonna kill yourself, Waylon…” Waylon mumbled an apology, which received a sigh, and then silence. 

Things were awkward and quiet between the both of them for the next couple days. They tried to talk about the fight they’d had, but beyond sorries and promises to do better there wasn’t a whole lot to say. They weren’t going to agree on this subject no matter what either of them did. Their sense of peace and their efforts to keep the past and the future at bay had all collapsed. Continuing their normal roles and for the most part acting like nothing had happened proved the easiest, with only the occasional awkward comment hinting that anything was out of the ordinary. 

In fact, Miles thought Waylon seemed better than ever…most of the time. It was odd though. One night he’d thought he’d heard him crying in his room, and then the next day he cleaned the entire apartment before spending the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen making a huge meal, and dessert, from scratch. The only thing he could think of that might be motivating him were his delusions that Eddie still lived, but there seemed more to it than that. His energy now, as he bustled about the kitchen, was determined, nearly fervent, cheerful at face value, but angry at times. At about six in the afternoon he peeked around the doorframe into the kitchen timidly, watching from a distance as Waylon swore repeatedly at the hand mixer when it wouldn’t turn on. 

“Son of a bitch,” he cried at last before tossing it violently back into drawer.

“Uh…Waylon, everything okay? You need any help?” Miles offered with a little bit of an amused smile. 

“I’m just peachy, Miles, I got it!” he called back as he snatched up the whisk and began beating furiously at a bowl of batter with a scowl on his face. “Just gotta teach this fucker who’s boss, that’s all!”

He couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched him abuse the mixture, all the while decked out in a super cute, frilly apron, his adorably messy hair pinned back with bobby pins, one of which was embellished with a little blue bird. How could any person be so sweet and yet so terrifying at the same time? 

“Alright, I’ll stay out of your way… let me know if you change your mind…” he said before sauntering off. 

Within a couple of hours the house smelled absolutely incredible. Miles couldn’t place the smell, but he was kind of afraid to go check it out in case Waylon was still in a frenzy. Interrupting once had been forgiven, interrupting twice, he might not be so lucky. Everything in the kitchen had seemed to calm down enough though that he thought it was worth the risk. Upon peering in, he was struck with awe. The kitchen was immaculate, and Waylon was setting the table, where he had already placed an arrangement of crepes, handmade whipped cream, sliced strawberries, and anything you could possibly want to go on top of aforementioned delights, or with it, including freshly squeezed orange juice and bacon. Miles had never been so hungry in his whole godforsaken life. 

“Woah!” he cried, compelled helplessly into the room by the sight and smell of the food alone. “That’s…this is… is it my birthday?”

Waylon looked up at him, laughed, and smiled. “Breakfast for dinner, extra classy, coming right up.” He pulled out a chair for Miles in his usual spot at the table, signaling that he was welcome. 

“What’s the occasion?” Miles asked, quickly taking his seat as he watched Waylon with a grin. 

“No occasion. Just had some…stuff I had to work out, and this is what I came up with.”

“Wow…when I’m feeling pressed I just curl up in front of my computer and don’t move for days. You’re a good cook, but this is a whole ‘nother level of awesome.” He waited, anxious to fill his plate, but politely waiting for Waylon’s word, should he incur his wrath. Waylon could really whip that huge wooden spoon around when it came to punishing poor table manners. 

Waylon smiled at him, grabbed Miles’ plate, and began filling it with deliciousness. “I guess I just wanted to apologize for our spat the other day and I didn’t know how, so…I thought you’d like this.” That wasn’t the whole truth, but it was the only part Miles needed to know about. 

“…wow, really? That was really nice, you didn’t have to do that.. but I’m glad you did,” he said with a playful smirk. 

The whole truth was that Waylon was carefully evolving into the perfect housewife. Even before Eddie had threatened to cut his dick off he’d thought he would like being a house husband one day. The desire was already there; now all he had to do was craft the sort of domestic setting he thought Eddie would find irresistible just in case he _was_ stalking them, like Waylon suspected. He knew how Eddie’s brain worked. If he did see Waylon living the sort of like they had planned together right before his eyes, and with Miles filling in as the husband in Eddie’s place no less, he didn’t think there was any way he would be able to stop himself from giving up this charade. It was everything Eddie wanted: Waylon, a wife, a traditional family setting, now all he needed was a couple of kids, he thought, smirking to himself. Who was he kidding, Waylon knew he looked adorable in his apron and he knew his cooking was incredible and he _hoped_ that Eddie had been watching him clean as well as change into the frisky little number he had on underneath. He’d shaved, everywhere; well, okay, almost everywhere. He wished that he’d had a fifties inspired dress, fuck yeah he would have worn it and looked damn good in it. 

“What are you grinning about, weirdo?” Miles teased with a mouthful of food as he eyed Waylon curiously.

He blinked innocently. “Oh, sorry, just thinking about what I wanna make for tomorrow.”

Miles chuckled. “This is the life. I’m a shitty cook, it’s amazing I didn’t starve to death before I met you.” Waylon laughed wholeheartedly and Miles was grateful; it had been a while since he’d heard that sound. 

Over the following week however, Waylon's resolve began to steadily weaken the longer his efforts went without producing the desire results. In fact, he’d stopped seeing or hearing any sign of Eddie’s presence, as if he’d disappeared off the face of the earth. Thoughts that Miles might have been right that he was just crazy haunted him until he was just at a loss. He was tired of trying and tired of missing him. Every day that his efforts went unappreciated was another blow and he ended every day by collapsing into bed then laying there for hours, unable to sleep. The only thing he could do was… he’d have to do better. He’d have to try _harder_ he would be _more_ perfect. Why didn’t Eddie want him? Why hadn’t he come yet? Couldn’t he see how Waylon needed him, how perfect they would be together? 

He took long walks by himself at night through sketchy areas of town. He walked to the theater again and again, he even slept there once. Nothing. _Nothing._ He couldn’t be wrong. He’d come too far to turn back down. At this point if Eddie really was dead he didn’t know what he would do. Just the thought of it and he…

Miles walked into the bathroom, gasped, and threw himself backwards from the room in shock at the sight of all the blood before quickly rushing back in, snatching the razor from Waylon’s hand, and chucking it into the trash bin. 

“Waylon,” he breathed, his voice shaking as he looked him over in horror and disbelief. “What…what have you done?” 

Waylon turned and blinked and at him vacantly, blood dripping down his face from where he’d been shaving, over and over again, where there was no hair left to shave. His jaw was a bloody mess, fat drips of crimson liquid oozing in fresh trails down his pale neck, spattering the white counter top, the floor, his clothes were ruined. He was in his boxers and his legs were painted red so that Miles couldn’t even tell exactly where he was bleeding from. He wasn’t squeamish, but Miles would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t a bit woozy. How could this happen? Waylon had seemed so much better! He’d been more active than ever, cleaning and cooking and taking care of himself, hell, he’d been more productive than Miles. He never saw this coming.

He got down to business right away, taking a damp washcloth and gently patting away the blood from his legs and face so that he could see how bad the damage was. His eyes filled with tears, but he blinked them away, there wasn’t time for crying. It seemed that Waylon had been using the wetness of the blood to make the blade slide more easily over the slippery skin, and so he hadn't bothered rinsing it away. In his mind Waylon registered the pain, but only distantly. He’d been aware that he was doing it, only…he didn’t want to stop. He had to keep going, his hand kept moving, pushing it further, peeling away thin strips of flesh, hardly cringing, only sighing with release once the pain had stopped. He didn’t mean to. He hadn’t decided to hurt himself, it just…happened. But it was okay now...Waylon closed his eyes peacefully. "It's okay...it's over...Eddie will come now."

Miles took him back to the hospital that very night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, the next chapter will be happier :( promise. 
> 
> And sorry the ending was so gross. This chapter just had to happen, but it's going somewhere, honest!
> 
> I'm not particularly fond of this chapter and I'm not sure why, so I hope you guys liked it nonetheless. Thanks for reading c:


	3. Look With Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wanted to be strong for him, but in the end, he was weak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide mention, overview of Waylon's hospital stay in the mental health ward.

He couldn’t bear it. He simply couldn’t bear it. 

Everyday was nearly the day that his resolve crumbled. The days that Waylon seemed to be truly were suffering were the hardest, and seeing him cry, hearing him call his name…it was worse than death, and the only thing that got him through it was seeing Waylon happy. His recovery seemed inevitable some days, in fact. He got dressed, he cleaned, he cooked just like he used to do. Eddie would linger outside the window getting drunk off the smell of his cooking, absurdly jealous, burning with the desire to reveal himself, but refusing stubbornly to break his vow for Waylon’s sake. 

He’d almost lost Waylon to the flames of his own fury. In his blindness he’d nearly killed him. It was the last straw, never again. How could he have been so selfish? Waylon had already hurt himself once before. He’d watched his mental health deteriorating before his eyes and done nothing, all in favor of his plan to bring and keep them together. He was so focused on them being together that it had never even occurred to him that maybe they just couldn’t be together, for Waylon’s sake. He’d wanted him so desperately that he’d been willing to do anything. He would kill a hundred men in Waylon’s name, to defend him or defend his honor, he would do anything for him at all…anything short of giving him up. 

Now he could see how…how flawed it had all been. The fire had burn away everything and left him clear and raw and barren. He could never put Waylon in harm’s way again, for any reason. Waylon had proven his loyalty, he’d been willing to die for him and he’d been a fool not to see it before, but it didn’t matter the way it had back then. All that mattered was that Waylon was safe and happy and Eddie was…he was a monster. He deserved so much better and he could be happy without him. He would put that to the test. 

But it hurt. It hurt until he thought he would die, and then it hurt more, but the pain never stopped even for an instant. Days passed and then months passed and it only seemed to get harder, the dreams more vivid, his longing more impossible to ignore. Waylon was the most important thing in his life and now he was gone, and yet at the same time he was right there in front of him. That was the worst part about it. He watched over him diligently in his mourning. He was there at every twist and turn, waiting and watching. He was sure that in time Waylon would heal and learn to move on the way that he knew he himself could never do. Time would show Waylon that he could be happy without him and he would learn to do without. 

But in the end that was _not_ what he saw. At times he seemed to have recuperated by leaps and bounds and so he would pull back, leave him be, only to find that when he had returned Waylon had become broken and hollow once more. Over and over again Eddie convinced himself that this was progress, that Waylon was getting better, that he was moving on just as he’d anticipated. He didn’t want to risk turning back to his selfish ways, interpreting any of his doubts as misperceptions that merely suited what he wanted reality to be. If Waylon seemed to need him that was only because it was what Eddie wanted to believe. He wanted to be strong for him. He wanted to be a new man, he wanted to _let him go_. But in the end, Eddie was not strong.

In the end, Eddie was weak.

 

 

 

 

There were two reasons for Miles to have Waylon taken to the hospital and insist that they keep him there, one of which was selfless and from a place of genuine concern. The other reason…was not. 

Waylon wanted to leave the hospital. He hated being back there, but more than actually being there he hated that he wasn’t allowed to leave. Thought being forcible committed was a thing of the past? Nuh-uh. It still happened and fairly frequently. Between his condition upon entry and Miles’ word, they’d had him here for three days already and weren’t planning on letting him go home anytime soon. He was a danger to himself, they said. He should have known better than to answer their questions with honesty, but when he’d been brought in he was such a wreck that it was all he could do just to make himself answer. Producing carefully calculated half truths hadn’t been in his repertoire at the time. 

 

 

 

“And on a scale of one to ten…how strong would you say the urges are?”

“Ten,” Waylon muttered dully. He didn’t plan on killing himself, although he’d considered it most days in the past month. First it was a vague desire, then it was like an inescapable need, and that was when the vague ideas began taking shape. How _would_ he do it, hypothetically, if he did? Did Miles keep a gun in the house? Not as far as he knew, but he sort of seemed like the kind of guy that might, just in case, maybe locked in a safe somewhere. What about the top of the apartment complex, he wondered distantly, just out of curiosity, was it high enough to kill him? Hypothetically. But he didn’t want to die, he just wanted to… not live… anymore. Taking all that into consideration he’d managed to produce a colorful intake with just enough shades of suicidal to allow them to keep him here as long as they felt was necessary. 

Miles sat in a chair nearby him and the ER nurse, staring listlessly at the ground and looking a little pale. 

“Hm?” Waylon said, having forgotten to listen to what the woman was saying as she tried to coax important information from him that would foretell the rest of his stay, at least until further notice. 

“Do you have your insurance card?”

Miles pulled Waylon’s wallet out of his own pocket, leafed through it, and then handed her the card. They sat in silence for a while in the sterile room, listening to the woman type and to an old man griping loudly but unintelligibly in the background.

The intake process seemed to go on and on until finally someone came over to remove the bandages Miles had clumsily put in place and began to check the cuts on his face and legs. The ones on his legs were the worst, but nothing required stitches. Still, they were an incriminating sign of his mental state as far as the hospital staff was concerned. 

Everything went by in a blur. For Waylon what was actually hours could have been days, or minutes. He didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to sleep. It was nearly three in the morning when they lead him to a section of the hospital that felt like a prison. There were four patient rooms and an office branching off of the central area where a woman sat at a desk to babysit them, and a few others, until their paperwork could be processed. Waylon lay on a bed in their room while Miles sat in a chair nearby. It was a stark, white room with little pomp and circumstance, and nothing he could possibly consider hurting himself with. They had him change into a hospital gown, pants, and socks. Miles didn’t bother turning the tables and making fun of him for it. They took away his clothes and anything else he had on him and put them in a plastic baggy before taking it away. 

It was quiet and it was cool and neither of them spoke. Waylon nearly nodded off as he thought about poor Miles, sitting there with him in the middle of the night. Still at his side. Still taking care of him. He felt horribly foolish and guilty. His eyes opened blearily and his head lolled to the side to look at him where he sat uncomfortably. He didn’t look tired, he just looked…faraway, but…Waylon sat up.

“Do you wanna lay down with me?” he offered gently. 

Miles looked at him and the bed for a moment before sighing heavily and standing as Waylon scooted over. It was a small bed, essentially just a wheel away table with a mattress pad, but it wouldn’t be the first time they’d fallen asleep snuggling so as not to send one of them toppling overboard. Miles sat beside him and they both laid down and got comfy as Waylon yawned. He lay on his back and Miles leaned into him on his side, making Waylon the uncooperative little spoon. It was comfortable and warm and Miles smelled like cologne while Waylon smelled like hospital and lilac shampoo. It didn’t take long for Waylon to fall asleep.

When he woke up it was to a nurse coming in the room and knocking lightly on the door. She introduced herself, explained what would happen next, and told Miles he could visit him tomorrow between 5:30 and 6:30 pm on the seventh floor. 

Waylon looked up at Miles from the wheelchair they had him sit in, feeling legitimately pitiful. Miles smiled back down at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy…” Waylon winced as Miles ruffled his hair then said goodbye before the nurse rolled him away. He wasn’t really sure why he couldn’t walk himself, just standard procedure he assumed. They took him to his room, checked his vitals, and he went to sleep. 

Miles felt guilty for leaving him there by himself even if it was the right thing to do and there was nothing he could do about it. As he drove home through the dark he sighed and clutched the steering wheel tensely. Poor Waylon. He just needed some time to remember how to live again. Maybe they could help him. 

As much as he knew Waylon needed to be there so he could deal with his issues, one thing he’d told the nurses hadn’t been true. He’d said Waylon was delusional about the death of his lover, but Waylon wasn’t as delusional as he now thought that he was. He was finally ready to believe that he’d hit rock bottom because he was stuck in a fantasy in which Eddie was still alive. And Miles felt so guilty, but…wasn’t it better if he did think Eddie was dead, not just for his own sake, but wasn’t it better for Waylon above all else? …but did Miles have any right to make that kind of a call?

He’d always known that Eddie had survived the fire. Hadn’t Waylon noticed that Miles didn’t have any burns on his body? Waylon trusted Miles. He hadn’t thought twice to question his story about saving him from the burning theater and so he’d never realized the impossibility of it. 

Miles had woken up in the hospital terrified, ripping the I.V. from his arm and calling Waylon’s name. Lisa was the first to rush in the room. She told him about the fire, how Waylon had run in, and for a second his whole world had spun away. He gripped her arm so tightly that it trembled, leaving bruises, until she took his face in her hand and told him that Waylon had run back in the building but that he was _alright_ and was staying in the hospital too. Now Miles could understand how Waylon’s mind had unraveled. What would he have done if Lisa had told him Waylon didn’t make it?

Who else could have saved Waylon from the flames but Eddie? Who else but the Phantom?

 

 

 

 

They wouldn’t let him go home until it was decided that he was no longer a danger to himself or anyone else. They said, at the very least, he would be here until the end of the week, three more days from now and nearly one week total. At least. Ironically, just being stuck here was maddening. When he wasn’t forced to participate in either group or individualized therapy there was nothing at all to do other than watch t.v. or grab a book from the very small selection available in the common area where the patients took their meals or socialized. He was so bored half the time he could cry, and the other half he was crying because he really did need to be here. There was some good he could get from this place yet.

Group therapy was rough. Really rough. Every person had issues serious enough to put them here, but most cases were very different from one another. While one was an alcoholic another was schizophrenic while another didn't remember who they were. They each had to find a way to get what they could out of the sessions and relate it to their own situations. Some of the patients refused to participate in the groups altogether, or were disruptive once they finally did show up. Even so, most of them played along.

Consistently spending time with a single group of strangers, all of whom had recently reached very vulnerable, very painful parts of their lives, had a curious affect on their ability to develop strong bonds with one another in a very short period of time, Waylon had noticed. There was a closeness that came from sharing the inner workings of your most personal, sometimes shameful thoughts and feelings with a roomful of strangers who were forced to do the same. Within the first three days of his stay, already Waylon felt like he knew these people…cared about them. He wanted them to get better in the same way that he wanted himself to get better. 

Waylon immediately became attached to an elderly man, Robert, who didn’t remember who he was. He was clearly very intelligent, and Robert told him once that he used to be a college professor. For the time being, he couldn’t recall his own name or the faces of the young man and woman that would come to visit him. The patients weren’t allowed to meet with guests alone in their rooms, but instead were required to section themselves off in the common area with their visitors. Privacy was not an option. While Waylon spent time with Miles and Lisa he couldn’t help but notice Robert and his visitors in the background. That night during dinner he’d asked him who they were and Robert had told him that they said they were his children. 

At mealtimes he would often eat with the same small group: Robert, Kyle, a young mother that called herself Piper, and a middle-aged woman named Carin.

Kyle was a young guy his own age with whom he often played chess, although neither of them were very good at it. He was athletic and rather shy, just a typical dude that liked basketball and video games. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about him whatsoever. Waylon thought it was a bit personal to ask him why he was there though and so he didn’t find out until he overheard him talking to one of the doctors the following day.

“Now, are you still hearing the voices?” he heard the doctor ask, just loud enough that Waylon could clearly hear him through the open door across the hall from where he sat his own room. He felt guilty for eavesdropping, but sound traveled over the stone and linoleum easily and it was simply hard not to hear.

“Yeah…sometimes,” Kyle muttered. 

“And are they still telling you to do things?”

“Yeah…I still hear them saying to hurt myself, or…sometimes other people…I don’t want to, of course, but…” his voice trailed off, embarrassed. 

“Yes, yes, I understand…” the doctor said quickly in a gentle tone. “And just to clarify it says here that…you believe these voices are the devil speaking to you?”

“Yeah, um…there’s six of them, and, like, this morning I…” Waylon stood up and went to the bathroom, closed the door, and ran the water in the sink for a while before washing his face. It had only been a couple of days since his admittance and he wasn’t used to hearing all about everyone’s intimate, personal business quite yet, even if they were expected to talk about it in group.

Piper was a young woman, probably in her thirties, although of course he didn’t ask. She talked openly with both humility and sometimes humor about how she was an alcoholic and how it was affecting her family. From their talks together Waylon thought she seemed ashamed and very aware of the consequences of her actions, determined to stop drinking, and yet here she was, and not for the first time. Waylon had never known anyone with an alcohol or drug addiction and so it was startling to him how much remorse she felt and yet how impossible it seemed to be for her to stop. Tears sprang to her eyes as she spoke about her children, how embarrassed of her they must be, how judgmental her husband was, how one drink on their vacation turned into an ugly scene that had been mortifying to all involved. She was, to put it mildly, very well off financially. She was friendly and kind and treated Waylon like both a friend and a son. She had spunk and energy, and he would remember fondly a long way off into the future the times in which she’d dragged him by the elbow up and down the hallway making him power walk with her for their exercise. He’d remember with a smile how she’d stuck out her arms like an airplane making “airplane sounds”, or jogged up and down the hall pretending she was playing Mariokart, taking him out with her shells as she sped past. She never seemed tired, except when she talked about her drinking.

And finally there was Carin, a spirited brunette who’s hair was just beginning to turn white. She had a kind face and deep set wrinkles from the sincerity of her facial expressions. Her eyes shone with life and youth, but behind them at any given moment he could see that her mind was in a thousand places at once. Carin talked very, very fast, jumping between completely different topics in a matter of seconds. Waylon would remember her for being the first person to greet him at breakfast the morning after his arrival. 

“Hi, you’re new, aren’t you? What’s your name?” she said with a gentle smile as she sat down with her tray of food and immediately threw herself eagerly into a friendly interrogation. 

“Waylon…” “Waylon?” She repeated back to him quickly. He nodded. “Waylon, right? That’s a nice name. My name’s Carin. You just get here last night? I never saw you before, there’s not too many people so you get used to the usual faces.” 

“Yeah, last night…” He was actually grateful to let her do most of the talking, and that was exactly what she did. “Oh, okay. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it here soon. It’s not so bad. The food’s pretty good. If you have any questions you can ask me, okay? Everyone’s pretty nice though. No one’ll be mean to you, so don’t worry. You get used to it here. You ever been here before?” He hook his head. “This is my fifth time. I think. I’ve been here a lot, mostly in the last ten years. I live at home with my boyfriend. He’s great, just great, he’s so worried about me. I hope I get out of here soon.”

He smiled a little and nodded when it was appropriate, letting her go on and on and not minding one bit. He could see how she would get on some peoples’ nerves and how her hyperactivity could be a little bit off-putting, but she was very friendly, gentle, and kind. There was a childlike innocence about her and a constant sense of genuine good intent that made it hard, at least, to stay mad at her, even when she was annoying. 

She apologized frequently for talking too much and was very open about her shortcomings. Still though, she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Often times in group it was all she could to keep quiet when other people were talking, and once they stopped talking it was nearly impossible for her not to jump in and start talking about herself. The therapist leading the sessions often had to say things like, “Carin, just one moment please, we were talking about how Kyle’s day is going.” and she’d immediately apologize and say oh, yes, of course before proceeding to do the same thing repeatedly at every opportunity. It was the kind of thing that rubbed a lot of people in the group the wrong way.

Sometimes she would suddenly become very upset without warning. Anything could set it off, an argument with another patient, a disagreement over something minor with one of the nurses. The first time she started screaming Waylon was so startled he jumped hard enough to hit the table and knock over his paper cup of water. He hadn’t been paying attention, just for a second, and suddenly Carin was screaming at another patient that had become upset with her. 

“Well I can’t help it if I’m trying to distract myself from the sounds of my dead baby crying for me! You know that’s all I hear, all the time? I hear it every night so I can’t even sleep! So don’t tell me to shut up, why don’t you shut up?” she sobbed hysterically as she pounded her fist on the table.

“Yeah, but you’re not only one in this place that’s got problems, lady!” yelled back another woman, pointing at her accusingly as a huddle of nurses and doctors came bustling into the room to diffuse the situation. Waylon stared in shock as they tried to calm the situation down. There was a lot more yelling and crying until finally the silence in the common room abruptly returned, and all he could hear was Carin’s muffled sobbing somewhere off in the distance. 

It was a strange place. As much as he empathized with everyone on the seventh floor he just wanted out. He wanted to get better so that he could go home, so that he could sleep in a real bed again, sleep without fifteen minute room checks, so that he could do something as simple as go on the computer or play a video game with Miles. Here there was nothing to concentrate on except for…the reason he was here in the first place. In that way it was actually very effective. 

On the fifth day he finally realized that all this time he had been intensely enveloped by denial. Realizing that really, truly, Eddie _must_ have been dead was his lowest point. He cried continuously. He could hardly eat. His primary therapist encouraged him to go to the group sessions anyway. Even in his silence he was so clearly distraught that the group leader tried to coax him into sharing what was going on before they did anything else. How could he say it? How could he tell them that Eddie was dead? As if this would be a surprise to anyone but himself. Saying it out loud made it real. Saying that he was dead meant finally admitting that he was gone and never coming back. He couldn’t do that…but he had to. 

By the end of that day he was exhausted, but at least he could say that he’d given it everything he had. 

As he had done every day previously, Miles came to visit him at the usual time, but he could immediately sense a change. They sat down in their usual place by the window and Waylon stared out of it without saying a word for a full minute. Miles could tell he needed the quiet. He was trying to say something, something difficult. It just wouldn’t come out. He watched his mouth as it opened slightly, but made no sound. All he could hear was the ticking of the clock and the quiet voices of other patients and their visitors in the background.

Finally, he said it, pointedly continuing to aim his gaze out the window. “Miles…is…Eddie really dead?” There was a long moment of silence and then Waylon looked back at him, waiting, watching him closely. Miles sighed, closed his eyes, and rubbed the back of his neck. Was he doing the right thing? There were a few moments more of quiet and then he…

“Yeah…yeah, Eddie’s dead,” he said quietly and opened his eyes. He glanced up at Waylon, who seemed oddly…calm. He watched as he nodded slowly once, twice, three times, then leaned against the windowsill and buried his face in his hand. Miles gave him his space for a while after that. 

For nearly ten minutes neither of them spoke or moved and then finally Waylon fidgeted and peered over his hand out the window, no trace of tears in his eyes. 

“I have to accept…how much more plain and ordinary the world is now…how much of the magic has gone out of it…how…much less I have to look forward to.” He sighed heavily into his hand, feeling the hot moisture of his own breath as his eyes traced the distant skyline. “I had a life before Eddie Gluskin…I’ll have a life after…but I never, ever wanted to remember what my life was like before he became a part of it. I’m a better person for knowing him…a stronger person. But even so I’ll…” He paused, swallowing thickly. “I’ll never get married…never have children…never know what it would have been like to live with him. To…hold his hand on a park bench, or…order fast food at a drive-through menu, or go hiking, or go on vacation, or…” He closed his eyes. “There’s just so much…less. Everything I ever do from now on…will be settling for less.”

Miles nodded slowly and sighed quietly through his nose. It was some heavy stuff. “Yeah…yeah, I understand.”

Waylon knew he could do it. He knew he could because he would have to.

Eddie always used to speak of darkness: how soothing it was, how it heightened the senses, how it dulled one’s inhibitions. Darkness had become a positive element in Waylon’s life, and now all he could see as he looked into the future was a cold, blinding light. It was the harsh glare of reality. There was no safe place to hide anymore, no dark corners to take shelter in. He could see things clearer than ever. He understood the way things had to be now. 

On the seventh day they told him that Tuesday, three days from now, would be his tentative discharge date. Miles was happy. Waylon was…relieved. Somewhat. And yet there so much work left to do. 

It was dark and it was peaceful and the therapy sessions were over for the day. Waylon was sitting up in his bed flipping through an old, worn out book of poems he’d grabbed from the common area. He sighed and set it on the bedside table, got up, turned off the light, and got back into bed. He stared out the window as his eyes adjusted to the dark and just sat there, lounging and thinking about everything that had happened so far and everything that was yet to come. He had homework: come up with three goals for the next day, but nothing was coming to him.

A nurse peeked into the room quietly, glanced him over, the usual routine, and slipped away again, assuming that he was asleep. The light peering in from the hallway dimmed again as the door shut most of the way and there, in the shadows behind the door, was Eddie. 

Eddie.

 _Eddie._

How long had he been there, how had he gotten in, _how was it possible?_ This had to be a hallucination, it had to be. He couldn't be here.

Waylon shot up in bed, breathless, staring at his hulking form as it came into the light leaking in through the window. No mask, nothing between them but the open air as he stepped over to the end of bed. He was hesitating, watching Waylon with baited breath, gripped by both the intense sorrow and the irresistible relief that their proximity brought.

Waylon threw the blanket off, his eyes never leaving the sight of him as he was gripped by a painful thrill of excitement, but he couldn't make himself move yet. It was happening, the reunion he’d imagined so many times, over and over again, had finally come once he'd begun to accept that it never would. He could be imagining this, but no, no, he was so _real_. He could recognize the times he’d hallucinated now, after the fact, and this was different. His head spun until he thought it would spin right off and go sailing across the room like a top, but he was here, he was really here and…

“Eddie?” he choked into the overwhelming silence.

Eddie stared at him and slowly nodded. He was anxious, anxious that their reunion should go well. He had no idea what to anticipate. “I’ve come for you, darling…I’m going to take you away.” Waylon could tell that Eddie was afraid. What if Waylon was angry with him, what if he couldn’t forgive him for everything he’d put him through? Not just throughout the months since the fire, but for everything before that. What if Waylon realized that he was better off without him? And of course, he’d abandoned him and left him alone all this time to writhe in his own personal hell. There were a million reasons why Waylon might decide, now that Eddie had finally come to claim him, that he wanted nothing of the sort. Eddie was so very afraid. 

Waylon crawled towards him and got up on his knees at the end of the bed so that he could face him properly. Eddie watched as Waylon took in the sight of him, tears sliding down his face as he gasped for breath before gently reaching out and running trembling hands over his body in disbelief. 

“How can you be here…?” he whispered in agony, hardly able to breath as he pushed his hands experimentally into his solid torso. “All this time you were alive…you left me here alone...I thought I was crazy, am I crazy...?”

He was furious, confused, he was sick with relief and he was scared, terrified that somehow none of this would be real. He could slip away at again any moment. That thought brought it all crashing down on him suddenly in a rush. He gasped for breath as he threw his arms around Eddie’s thick torso and buried himself into his chest. Eddie gripped him so hard that it hurt; he could feel Waylon shaking, and he wanted to hold him tighter, more, more than this, close enough to make up for every second they’d spent apart. Waylon let out a strangled sob and Eddie snatched him up, forcing him upwards and burying his fingers in his hair as he kissed the life straight from his lunges. He bore into Waylon hungrily, aching with relief down to his core as he felt Waylon’s fingers pressing into his skin hard enough to bruise. 

“Forgive me…forgive me, darling,” he panted against his lips when they at last parted. He was so filled with guilt and regret, but Waylon hushed him, running his hands over his face and neck. Waylon let out a deep shuttering breath as he closed his eyes and their lips brushed together. For a moment he allowed himself to focus only on the heat of their mingling breath and the strength of Eddie's arms, the tenderness of his hands as they ran over his skin. When at last he opened his eyes, almost feeling that he was drunk, he stared up at Eddie hungrily, a new sense of vicious strength and determination filling him to the brim. He hadn’t forgotten why Eddie was here in the first place.

“Get me out of here.”

 

 

 

 

“He can’t _be gone_ , how could he be gone? That doesn’t just happen! Was he discharged, what, did he just, just, just _walk out_? Somebody better figure this out, now, I don’t give a fuck about your shitty excuses!” Miles shouted. Go ahead, let them call security on him again, they could all go fuck themselves. What kind of place was this? You can’t just _lose_ patients! He wished Jeremy was here, he would have taken out this whole sorry institution from the bottom up with a whole team of lawyers, none of them would have jobs, they'd be lucky if they ever worked again.

Lisa held his arm as they walked back to the parking lot together as Miles was gripped by a rising sense of panic. They got back in the car and for a moment they both just sat there. They’d come as soon as Miles had gotten the call. Somehow Waylon had mysteriously disappeared. 

“Ha!” Miles howled with furious mirth, an alarming grin stretching across his face. “Like a fucking magic trick, little bit a smoke and mirrors and BAM your best friend fucking disappears into the ass crack of the universe! Jesus christ if we know where he is, this is only a professional institution for the mentally ill, that’s what you get for trusting us, you dumb _fuck_!” He slammed his fist on the steering wheel then sank against it, heaved a great sigh, and closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry. Somewhere deep down inside he thought that _some part of him_ should have known this would happen. 

Lisa watched him with an even, gentle expression, but was silent for the moment. Miles had shouted on the way over that _‘of course Eddie’s not fucking dead that would be too much to ask for!’_ and so even though she was the last to know it was all beginning to click into place for her. She’d had no idea, but Miles had been playing them all. With no one having any clue how Waylon had gotten to the hospital, she didn’t know that Miles had claimed the rescue for himself. Who else thought that it was Miles? How many people did he feed that story to? She couldn’t even begin to guess; it had been a while since she’d interacted with anyone from the theater outside of briefly mentioning Waylon’s condition to Billy or consulting with Trager about the theater’s future. Since the tragedy of the fire, seeing familiar faces from Mount Massive just hadn’t felt like something she was up to. For all she knew, everyone thought that Miles had saved Waylon, while she knew perfectly well that that simply wasn’t true. It wasn’t even possible, she’d been with him the whole time.

What made him so sure that Eddie was alive? That he was responsible for Waylon’s sudden disappearance? She didn’t want to antagonize him, but she needed some answers. She needed to know that Waylon wasn’t in danger. 

“You said that Eddie wasn’t dead?” she asked quietly. 

Miles nodded and opened his eyes, staring off into the distance. 

“How do you know that?”

“Who else could have saved Waylon that night?” he said matter-of-factly. 

“That’s not the only reason though.”

“…I’ve seen him. I think, I…I can’t be sure…I thought maybe I was just paranoid until Waylon said he’d been experiencing weird things too, but now I know…I know he’s alive and now he’s…” he couldn’t finish that thought. 

“And you’ve been telling Waylon Eddie’s dead?”

“Well, yeah, of course, how could I even really know that- …it doesn’t matter, the point is that…is that he has to be responsible for this.”

She looked confused. “…isn’t that good?”

“How the FUCK would that be good?” He turned to her, aghast and furious. 

“Well otherwise the reason he’s missing is because he wanted to hurt himself. Otherwise we would have heard from him by now. Either he wanted to be alone for that reason or he’s…”

“With Eddie. Yeah. I got it,” he said in irritation as he rubbed his temples and closed his eyes shut tight. 

There was a long silence. 

“Is he safe with him?”

Miles didn’t want to admit it, but at last he said grudgingly, “…yeah…yeah, probably.”

“But Waylon’s still not feeling well either, we don’t know what he’s thinking or feeling right now, he’s in a really precarious spot. We can’t just leave them, even if a lot of the reason Waylon was feeling unstable was because he was torn up about Eddie, that’s not all of it. He has some serious stuff he has to work out.” She paused and crossed her arms over her chest. “And even though they’re crazy about each other I don’t think they’re necessarily good for each other. They sort of seem to…feed into this dangerous loop of dysfunction if you know what I mean.”

Miles nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh as he sat back heavily in his seat. 

“We’ve got to find them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -relieved sigh- I feel like I've been holding my breath for the last, like, eight chapters. Can we PLEASE fluff this shit now? Thanks very much lol also WHERE IS THE SEX? Coming up, let's do that explicit rating justice.
> 
> Also, I want to dedicate this chapter to Robert, Carin, Piper, and Kyle. Wherever you are now I hope you're safe and that your recovery is going well.


	4. Beneath A Moonless Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Waylon make their great escape and for the first time they have a place that they can both call their home. Although worries linger in Waylon's mind, it's hard to think of anything but martial bliss. For now they can focus on nothing else but being back with one another at last.

The only train that could take them where they were going was a small, rickety, old-fashioned thing that right away Waylon quite enjoyed. Merely stepping on board felt like taking a step back in time. The conductor took their tickets as they climbed in and sat on the bench seat by the large window along the side of the car. Waylon turned towards Eddie and looked out the window as the train’s whistle blew, gazing out at his last sight of the town. He wouldn’t miss it, but he felt nostalgic somehow. He’d grown up there after all. Still, knowing they would never come back didn’t unsettle him. This was an adventure, one he was eager to pursue and had been for a long time. After everything that had happened he liked to think that he had learned better than to hold onto the past.

That was why as soon as they'd gotten far enough away from the hospital he knew that he had to lay everything out on the table. He was done holding back. He thought back to what he'd said and done as he watched everything familiar on the other side of the glass fade away effortlessly into the night.

 

\---

 

Waylon couldn't stop crying, not even once they were long gone from the hospital, not even as Eddie cradled him protectively in his arms and carried him off to what he knew would be a better life. As much as they were tears of happiness and relief, he couldn't let go of the fact that Eddie had abandoned him. It was absolutely the greatest possible betrayal. Is this was Eddie had felt like when he'd heard Waylon's declaration to run away with Miles? The thought caused a stab of guilt to penetrate his chest, but it didn't stop the anger and the pain from pouring out of him like pus from an infected wound. If he wanted to heal he had to purge himself of everything holding him back, now.

Eddie was reluctant to stop until he was sure they were safe, but the more he tried to ignore Waylon's struggles the more he fought him until at last he stopped moving and growled, "Put. Me. Down." 

Eddie stopped in his tracks, sighed, and after a pause reluctantly set him down, uncertain of what would happen next. 

He watched as Waylon faced him, fists clenched tightly at his sides as he stared at him with so much fury and hurt that it made him flinch. 

"How could you leave me? All that time you knew...what I was going through, you _saw_ me begging for you, watched me grovel in the ashes for hours as I waited for you and you just left me there." Waylon had to pause to catch his breath, but he stared him down, wanting to hit him, wanting to scream at him, anything that would make him understand how much he'd hurt him. Eddie could hardly look at him, but he did. He owed him at least that much, but he didn't know what he could possibly say. Even when tears began to slip down his face, Waylon's pity wasn't enough to stop him from screaming at him. "You made me mourn you! I would never do that to you, Eddie...never...never!" He shoved him hard as a cry of anger and sorrow tore out of him. "I needed you! It destroyed me, I hurt myself, I hurt the people around me, I fucking needed you and you weren't there!" He started to sob loudly, but he continued to hit and fight Eddie as he pulled him into his arms. He hated him, he screamed at him, he hit him repeatedly and cried until his chest ached, but Eddie just held him tighter, pulling him into his chest and watching him in agony as tears poured down his face. He knew that this was all his fault.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, Waylon...darling...I'm so sorry..." Eddie's voice broke into a sob as he hung his head and at last Waylon felt that he understood...that his anger was spent. He put his arms around his neck and buried his face against him with a grimace. 

For a long while they did nothing but hold each other in the dark, drawing strength and comfort for one another's presence, watching old, deep wounds heal before their very eyes, leaving scars, but ridding them of the pain they'd carried for too long.

At last Waylon reached up and ran his hand over Eddie's cheek as he look up into his eyes. 

"I will decide what's best for me. I know what I want and I know what I'm sacrificing and I want you, Eddie Gluskin." He paused then he held up the hand where his ring still rested with a ghost of a smile on his tear stained face. "I married you. For better or worse."

\---

It hadn't been long ago, but thinking back on it Waylon realized that he felt so much lighter already. He wouldn't forget, but he would forgive and he was ready to move forward.

It was late and the train car was empty as it rattled out of the station. They both watched as it disappeared steadily from view, slipping off into the darkness, or rather they were the ones slipping away, Waylon thought with a small smile as his eyes connected the dots between the street lamps. He sighed with contentment and looked back at Eddie. He stared back with a vague expression of awe as he rested one large hand over Waylon’s where his sat on the windowsill. He could hardly believe that Waylon was running away with him. He was perfect and it was more than he deserved. Waylon chuckled softly, feeling a little embarrassed by Eddie’s impassioned expression. He’d changed into the clothes Eddie had brought him in a scramble and he was sure he wasn’t exactly a sight for sore eyes, but that never stopped Eddie from staring at him that way. 

“What’s running through that head of yours…?” he said with a gentle smile as he turned his hand over and laced their fingers together. He glanced at their hands happily. “I don’t even know where we’re going and I don’t care,” he mused leisurely.

Eddie raised their hands towards his mouth and kissed his fingers. “Far enough away that we won’t be found.” His amorous eyes met Waylon’s, and the intensity of his gaze made him blush. “It’s not much, but it’s home. I wanted us to have somewhere to go and it’s not much more than that…but it’s ours.”

Waylon grinned playfully. “I don’t care where we go. You said before…we’re going into Cornwall? That’s as rural as it gets around here…I’m excited. I always wanted to live in the country.”

Eddie laughed lightly and smiled. “I know…” He sighed with contentment and put his arms around Waylon accommodatingly as he shuffled up against him and leaned into his broad chest with a yawn. Waylon could feel Eddie’s warm breath by his ear as he leaned over and watched Waylon play with his hands absentmindedly where they were settled in his lap. “You can sleep if you like. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” Waylon muttered. It was childish, but he was afraid. His dubious relationship with reality had made it difficult for him to trust anything just because he could see it, hear it, or touch it. Even more than that though, they hadn't been together for more than an hour. He was tired, but he was so excited he couldn’t possibly sleep. 

He watched the scenery speed by as it gradually turned into a sprawling countryside blanketed in peaceful darkness. Everything was still sinking in, but being able to constantly feel Eddie’s presence at hand was a consistent reminder that at last everything was as it should be. It had been countless months since he’d been able to relax in Eddie’s arms and it was no small comfort to be able to do so now. This is what they should have done in the very beginning. They both realized that now. Now, they would move forward and never look back. He’d live his life with his best friend at his side, together with the one person that knew him better than he knew himself. He’d never forgotten what this endless sense of ease and belonging used to feel like. He imagined the sensation frequently, trying to pretend on many a night that Eddie was laying there in bed beside him. For a moment he shuttered and had to remind himself that he would never have to go back to that. Never again would he have to cling to distant memories in an effort to keep himself sane. He might not be sane, but at least it wouldn’t hurt. 

As if sensing his disquiet, Eddie raised his fingers and smoothed Waylon’s hair lovingly, combing it back from his forehead and running his fingertips tenderly through the dusty blonde strands in a soothing, rhythmic fashion. Waylon sighed with satisfaction and hummed quietly. He had questions, concerns about sneaking out of the hospital, about Miles, about a million different things, but they all seemed so far away and insignificant compared to the only moments they’d spent together in longer than he cared to dwell on. Nothing could touch him. It wasn’t often that people got second chances. How many times had he begged the powers that be to just give him back Eddie Gluskin, and here he was? It was the most incredible, incredible thing.

“Are you alright, darling?” Eddie murmured. 

Waylon nodded lazily and opened his eyes. “Yeah…it’s just a little…overwhelming, all of it, you know…?”

Eddie nodded. He did know. Now all the ways he had tried to convince himself to stay away sounded empty…pointless. He’d put his best efforts into making the right choice, but realized now that the choice had already been made, and not by him. Waylon himself had already decided. He’d chosen him and he wasn’t going back on that. So long ago they’d made the decisions that had set everything in motion, passing the point of no return to arrive here, at this moment, where their bridges burnt and their fates were entwined. They’d made choices with love in their hearts and in the end, now that all was said and done, they were finally approaching the place they’d always sought: home. After everything they’d been through how could either of them have known that they would end up where they always dreamed of after all? They were here now, but it had been no small feat. 

The gentle weight of Waylon as he shifted further onto his lap was more comforting than he could ever possibly describe. It was warm and sure, banishing all his fears and silencing all his doubts. He ran his hand over Waylon’s stomach then tightened his arm around his waist as he leaned in to kiss his temple while his other hand rested lightly over his neck.

“Just think about it…soon all of this will be so normal to us,” Eddie whispered. “It’ll be natural…finally… the way it always should have been. Don’t think about it. All of that is done. All the suffering…the loneliness. It’s over.”

Waylon knew he was speaking from the heart, of his own experiences. He’d been lonely long before he’d even met Waylon, and in a way so had he, but it wasn’t comparable. He couldn’t begin to imagine the suffering Eddie had been through. They deserved to finally be happy…especially Eddie. 

A small smile curled onto his lips as shadowy trees and fields rushed by out the window, dimly lit by a cloudless night sky. The shining swathe of stars shone brilliantly above. It reminded him of the first time Eddie had taken him out onto the roof of the theater. Such days seemed ages behind them. 

He closed his eyes for what he thought was just a moment, but when he opened them again he saw an expansive body of water hovering outside the train window. His eyes opened wide and he watched in silent awe as the dark water slipped by, shimmering under starlight. 

“Is that the ocean?” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. 

“Mm-hm,” Eddie responded softly as they both stared out at the peaceful scene. So quiet…so beautiful and serene. 

“…I’ve never seen the ocean before,” Eddie muttered reverently, and smiled. Waylon smiled too.

It was nearly another hour before the train rolled into the tiny station. It was hardly more than a platform, and the process of being reclaimed by nature seemed almost complete. As they stepped off the train and watched as it rolled off down the tracks, Waylon noticed the thick plant life that engulfed the wooden railings and benches. So this was it? Eddie took his hand and lead him down the steps and off down the dirt road towards home. Waylon covered a yawn with his other hand, then smiled as he looked around. There were groupings of small homes and buildings nearby making up the sleepy town and he wondered what kind of people lived there. On every side of them there were fields lined by trees, landscape that rolled off into hills in the distance. It was nerve-racking what they had done and his body buzzed with nervous energy as they walked on.

After a while of walking Waylon sighed and leaned against Eddie’s side with a yawn as that energy of his started to wane. Eddie stopped and looked at him, then crouched down in front of him. 

“Here.”

Waylon blinked in tired confusion as his brain tried to process what Eddie wanted from him. “Uh…”

Eddie glanced back at him. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride. We’re almost there.”

Waylon blushed and scoffed half-heartedly at him. “Eddie, that’s ridiculous, I’m fine, I can…” Eddie didn’t move, and his voice trailed off as his resistance slipped away. He was pretty tired, but for some reason Eddie didn’t seem tired at all. He sighed, glanced around as if he were embarrassed someone would see, then leaned down against Eddie’s back. He puts his arms around his neck and shoulders and hoisted his legs up around his waist where Eddie caught him under the knees. Once he was shifted so that they could get a could grip on each other, Eddie stood and started walking. Waylon blushed and laughed as he leaned his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. He felt stupid, but…it was kind of nice. 

“Let me know if I’m too heavy so you can put me down…” he mumbled shyly by Eddie’s ear, but he just smiled. 

“You’ve lost weight, darling.”

“Yeah, it’s been…weird without you,” Waylon said quietly as he closed his eyes. He listened to the sound of the wind in the trees and Eddie’s footsteps on the path as his mind attempted to process everything that had happened. The months they had spent apart seemed endless, the suddenness of Eddie’s return shocking, and yet part of him had still held onto this dream of them together even up until the very moment he had arrived. Had they made the right decision just taking off like that without telling anyone? He could have at least waited until he was released from the hospital, he’d thought at first, but he couldn’t do that, not knowing that Eddie was alive and out there waiting for him. 

Actually, he hadn’t thought about it at all. He was tired of thinking, of trying to do the right thing, to make good decisions. All of that had gotten them no where and so now they had simply done what felt right without thinking of the consequences. It was so so stupid, none of this made any sense, but he didn’t care. He was finally happy. The relief was all-consuming. He was free and weightless, and he was exhausted in every sense of the word, but they were here on this beautiful night in this small, beautiful town, together again…and the air was cool and crisp, he could smell the dirt and the grass and Eddie’s warm musky scent and everything was the way it should be. He’d never felt so alive and he didn’t want to fall asleep, but even so his blissful mind gradually sank into familiar, comforting darkness…darkness that no longer tempted him with phantoms of the past, but of the future.

When he awoke it was to the sound of a heavy door clicking gently back into place and Eddie’s footsteps moving across a hardwood floor. His eyes opened and blearily peered around at the unfamiliar room. It was small and old-fashioned, but it already looked like a home with the two of them standing in it. This house, it could have been any place, the shabby carpet could have been any floor and it could been exactly where he wanted to stand. 

He felt Eddie’s head turn back towards him slightly then he muttered, “Darling?”

Waylon shifted and yawned. “Yeah, I’m awake…” He stared around then mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, “How did you do this?”

“I’ve been living here since the fire.”

Instant skepticism. Even given the suspecting silence, Eddie didn’t seem to think further explanation was necessary. There was no way, especially considering the lengthy train ride, that Eddie had spent any great length of time here. Likely it served as a home base, a safe zone, but who had time to hang around here when there was Waylon to stalk? Especially towards the end of their separation, Waylon doubted he’d spent much time at home. Either way, Eddie wasn’t dishing. 

Waylon snuggled into Eddie’s back like a stubborn child and so he carried him to their bed where he gently deposited him. Waylon let go without resistance and then laid there sleepily for a moment before throwing his arms over his head and stretching deeply, arching his back and scrunching up his knees as his face contorted tightly before everything relaxed all at once. His body, now warm and loose, ached sweetly as everything shifted back into place, and he looked up at Eddie lazily, but with mischief in his heart. 

“Just move me over,” he said with a hint of freshness as he patted the bed beside him. Eddie complied, looming over him, and Waylon felt a thrill of alarm as he grabbed his torso and hoisted him back further onto the bed before plopping down beside him heavily. He felt Eddie’s chest rise and fall as he heaved a sigh before gathering Waylon in his arms and burying his face against his hair. He could feel his relief the same way he felt his heat seeping into his skin. 

Sleep…how could he sleep? But the hour was late and his eyelids were heavy. The remnants of earlier sleep still clung to him and it was easy enough, despite his reluctance, to give in to its influence. 

 

 

 

 

Waylon woke up to the feeling of Miles shaking him.

“Waylon…Waylon…wake up, come on, it’s okay, wake up,” Miles’ voice echoed as he sat up in bed abruptly. He was panting and staring into the familiar face with a look of a complete lack of comprehension. 

…what? Where was…he’d just been somewhere else with…

He looked around as a coldness crept over his insides steadily but surely, and when he realized what was happening, again, it was happening _again_ , it knocked the breath from his lunges. 

“…Eddie,” he mumbled blankly, looking back into Miles eyes. Don’t. Don’t say it, I know what you’re going to say, but don’t say it- 

“It’s alright, Waylon, it was just a dream…you were having another nightmare. It’s okay.” Cruel sunlight bled into his bedroom, basking across his cold skin and attempting to warm it. He was broken out in a cold sweat. He threw his blankets off, his arms shaking. 

“It wasn’t a dream, I was…at the hospital and then Eddie, he…”

“No, Waylon.”

“Yes!” he commanded, “Yes, I was - and then…no, that’s impossible, that’s-”

He called Eddie’s name as Miles grabbed his shoulders, keeping him firmly on the bed before hugging him fiercely. “I know, I know, Waylon, I’m so sorry, just breathe, remember coming home from the hospital? Remember-” “NO,” he shouted, struggling to shove him off, but Miles’ hold was too strong and all the strength had suddenly gone out of his own body. The world was spinning, sinking away. He screamed and he screamed, the sound tearing from his throat, ripping him in half, his voice forced from him like vomit, bursting forth uncontrollably. He struggled, bucking on the bed and straining his arms and legs against Miles and the mattress. He wanted to hurt them, he wanted Eddie, he wanted to die, he-

As he relaxed into Eddie’s arms, the world, and with it a great sense of relief, came crashing over him with such sudden ferocity that it made him gasp for breath. A nightmare. He was with Eddie. Eddie was alive, it was Eddie, not Miles. 

“Darling, darling, it’s alright…yes, I know, hush now darling,” he cooed as Waylon dug his fingernails into the flesh of his arms. He sobbed until his lungs burned, until he had no more energy to spend and then at last Eddie was able to soothe him, aided the cool night air coming in through the window and the quiet night’s silence, broken only by the chorus of crickets. He sunk into his warm body as the tears dried on his face. 

“A dream…just a dream…”

 

 

 

 

He had been afraid to go back to sleep, but eventually Eddie’s coaxing and his own exhaustion talked him into it, and he awoke the next morning right where he had remembered falling asleep the night previous: in Eddie’s embrace. 

They woke up in the afternoon and took their time waking up, and then took their time having breakfast. After that, still getting his bearings on the waking world and his new living arrangement, Waylon decided to explore the house. 

He had never considered himself a clumsy person, but by the third time he’d knocked some strange object from its perch, he’d decided that he at least needed another cup of coffee if he was going to be wandering around Eddie’s maze of various curiosities. Eddie may not have spent much time here himself, but apparently all his possessions hadn’t been destroyed in the fire. He was mystified by the entire situation, but more than that he was grasped by the urge to ask Eddie about every single oddity he came into contact with. Stacks of old books, bottles filled with mysterious substances, battered trinkets and antiques. Years of collecting strange artifacts had resulted in the space being cluttered and vaguely reminiscent of the home of a senile wizard. He was certain that every item had a tale and in time he resolved to hear every one of them. 

But for now he had other matters weighing on his mind. Mainly, he was still reeling from the drastic series of events that had just taken place. Everything had changed, and in the chaos all that remained were a handful of certainties that Waylon was now grappling with:

Eddie was very much alive, a murderer, arsonist, and a wanted man.  
He could not expect to ever see Miles or any of his old friends again without confronting a world of trouble.  
Waylon was out of a job and, for all intents and purposes, had officially become a housewife.

The fourth thing was not exactly a certainty as it was still something he was trying to figure out, but he was fairly certain that he was insane. Nobody in their right mind would ever be this happy about the long line of seriously poor choices he had made regarding Eddie, but happy he was. Filled to the brim with happiness, in fact, absolutely giddy with it. Sure, he was concerned about living with a murderer, and yeah, he could feel the loss of Miles and the others heavy on him even when it wasn’t at the forefront of his mind, but before sorrow or worry came a flow of contentment that he couldn’t stem. Waylon was a very, very sick man. 

He made his way to the kitchen to find Eddie sitting at the kitchen table, leaning over it as he read a newspaper. The sight made him pause. It was just so pleasantly…normal. Of course, normal was only okay because it wasn’t really normal at all. _Actually_ normal would never do. Eddie looked up at him when he came in and his eyes searched him carefully. 

“Darling,” he called softly. Waylon smiled as he stood before him, allowing silence to sink into them unhindered for a few moments before responding. The kitchen smelt of fresh coffee and sunshine.

“Hello, my beloved fiancé,” he purred. Eddie blushed, caught off guard by his bold greeting. Satisfied, Waylon continued, “This all feels very surreal…”

“Yes, it does,” Eddie agreed as he took in the sight of Waylon, standing in his mother’s kitchen. “You’re not having second thoughts…” he ventured, his tone darkening just a tad. 

Waylon answered confidently. “No,” he paused thoughtfully, “…I have questions. Questions about the future…but I don’t dread the future anymore for the first time in a long time.”

 

 

 

 

The days wore on, lazily, blissfully. The old Waylon came out on some days in the sunlight, fretting about Miles, about those that might be searching for them desiring nothing more than to ruin their little world of wonder. He mused about the practicalities of maintaining what they had found, considering how they would make a living, whether they should keep traveling in order to keep their anonymity, and other such things that had to be thought about. But when the night came, and at other random intervals during the day as well, Waylon found that he was able to let go a little bit more.

Delusions. Fantasies. Their love itself was madness, two flavors of insanity that complimented one another.

Eddie was a murderer, one might say even a serial killer, although that phrase had never occurred to either of them. All his work had finally created the visions of his life that he had dreamed of since he was a child and despite revelations he’d had in past months regarding his selfish behavior, he would do anything to keep what he now had. Anything at all. 

He and Waylon were like-minded in that respect. If it meant forgiving all Eddie’s bloody transgressions, if it meant suspending reality itself in favor of a prettier picture, he would do that. It wasn’t even just that he would do that, but that he couldn’t do anything else. 

Anyone could see that they were mad.

While the Phantom poured over his latest script Waylon slaved away on dinner with the greatest enthusiasm. Bullshit gender norms coupled with the expectation that he would be single for life had convinced him that he would probably never end up a stay at home husband, and he was not only excited to indulge his passion for cooking but honored at the chance to prove himself to Eddie. He was determined to give him the closest thing to the life he’d always dreamt of as he could get. He pinned his hair back out of his face with a couple bobby pins, wrapped the apron strings around his slender waist, tying them with a tight bow, and went to work with a fire in his eyes. 

Eddie was stunned into adoring silence by the sight of Waylon busying about in his kitchen. It was better than he ever imagined. When he thought of a woman bustling about making dinner he often thought of his mother and so in his mind her mannerisms in doing so were firmly placed. Her smile and relaxed pace, her exact measurements and precise movements. It was a serene experience to watch her work. He would sit at the kitchen table and color, or read, or help her with a sewing project while she cooked or baked, and many of these memories populated his mind in regards to what cooking ought to look like. 

What Waylon did and how he did it was not like that at all. Any sense of serenity was as far from the experience as it could possibly be. His stirring and chopping was almost violent, his scoldings of the appliances were plentiful, and it was only a slight exaggeration to say that he had as much food on himself and his work surfaces as he had in the bowls. Even now he had a smear of something white and sweet across his cheek, hinting at the evening’s dessert. The sight was so perfect and more importantly so unequivocally Waylon that it made his heart ache with happiness. He asked if he wanted any help, but Waylon merely shooed him from the room and told him to come back in twenty minutes. 

When he returned he was surprised to find that the kitchen was spotless and the table was beautifully set and filled with food, and suddenly he had never been so hungry. He watched as Waylon removed his apron and sighed in a huff as he hung it back on the wall before sitting down at the table across from him.

“Dinner is served.” 

As they ate, Waylon tried not to stare. He had tried so hard to make the best meal that he had thus far, now that he was accustomed to the kitchen. He wanted to make sure that he had done a good job.

“It is absolutely delicious, darling, you are truly a multi-talented woman.” Waylon sighed heavily with relief and delight, smiling in satisfaction. 

After dinner they both cleaned up, although Eddie, to Waylon’s surprise, insisted upon doing the dishes. Before getting started on them though he stopped and turned to Waylon as he deposited their plates in the sink. He reached out, placing his hand under Waylon’s chin and drawing him closer. He kissed him sweetly before allowing his thumb to travel up and wipe away the frosting lingering on Waylon’s pink cheek. He pulled his hand back then and licked it from his finger as he stared at him hungrily, causing Waylon to unconsciously grip the edge of the counter to steady himself as his heart hammered in his chest. He cleared his throat shyly and after a moment of watching Eddie’s lips he murmured, “Do you…want me to rinse?”

Eddie smiled. “That would be lovely.” Waylon sidled up to him at the double sink and smiled as he washed off what Eddie soaped and scrubbed. Hip to hip, they worked through the dishes happily and when they were finished they dried their hands and went to the living room to snuggle on the couch. 

Waylon leaned into Eddie’s shoulder as he closed his eyes peacefully. It was truly difficult to worry about anything. Eddie’s hand rested firmly on his waist, burning into his skin, heavy and sure. 

An hour must have passed. They talked, laughing quietly, hands wandering and bodies shifting invitingly into new positions. After a time, as Eddie’s fingers traced the back of Waylon’s neck he said, “Let me show you something.”

Nervous as Eddie lead him through the dark, he gripped onto his hand. It was a black, moonless night and he wondered if Eddie knew this path through the field so well that he was unperturbed by the darkness, or if the darkness was only natural to him because he had spent the majority of his life inside it. Either way, his steps were confident as they phased between giant, looming trees along a path that was not quite a clear path. They were deeply and undeniably alone, and Waylon’s heart was racing.

They broke through the trees and stepped out onto a hill which sloped gently off into an expansive, field-strewn landscape. It was too dark to see far off into the distance, but they were wide open to the sky and Waylon could feel the infinite space from every angle. It felt like freedom as the sense of unending nature all around them sank into his soul and he couldn’t help but feel that they were in a sacred place. It was both safe and uncertain, standing on the grassy slope in the middle of no where, in the middle of wilderness. He felt both secure and exhilarated by Eddie’s presence at his side; it told him that he was the only thing for miles that he ought to fear. He was safe and yet completely at his mercy. 

Waylon stepped out over the grass, breathing the cool night air deeply into his lunges before turning back to Eddie. He could hardly make out more than his silhouette as Eddie stalked towards him in the darkness and for a moment Waylon’s heart filled with fear. He panted softly with adrenaline as Eddie took his face in his hands and kissed him deeply on the mouth, drawing him into his body like a force of nature, urging him to succumb, and succumb he did without any sort of struggle. His heart pounded in his ears as Eddie’s hands pressed under his shirt against the bare skin of his waist and, compelled beyond conscious thought, he pressed against Eddie’s broad body as his lips nipped at the kiss. Eddie was being surprisingly coy and it was incredibly frustrating. He moaned in annoyance as he had to stand on his tip toes to pursue Eddie’s lips and he could feel him smirking as Waylon was made to sing for his supper. 

“Eddie,” he breathed finally in frustration, his blood boiling with lust and irritation. Eddie chuckled darkly in response before leaning down suddenly and firmly capturing his lips, sucking the breath straight out of him. Waylon’s body sank back into him with satisfaction. He remained soft and pliable in Eddie’s arms as he stripped the shirt from his body and Waylon’s skin prickled against the cool night air. His own hands meanwhile fumbled heatedly at the buckle of Eddie’s pants. Eddie allowed him to work his belt and pants open and Waylon could feel his stomach muscles contract as his fingers glanced across it distractedly. He whimpered at the loss of Eddie’s tongue from his mouth as he pulled back and removed his shirt and Waylon watched him lost as his head spun pleasantly. He could only wait helplessly as Eddie shifted out of his pants and then moved against him predatorily. Waylon sighed feverishly as Eddie’s hand slipped into his pants and his long, deft fingers slid between his legs. He made a strangled noise as Eddie gripped him in his hot fingers, then panted when he refused to move. He made a sound that was half a groan and half a growl. Damn it, Eddie…!

His hand suddenly disappeared, but Waylon hardly had time to protest before he found himself falling backwards as Eddie laid him back on the grass in one quick, fluid motion. He relaxed against the ground, spreading his legs, opening himself up to him without a moment’s hesitation and Eddie readily took advantage of it. He roughly tugged his pants down and suddenly everything seemed to be moving too fast and yet not fast enough. His body buzzed with so many sensations and yet he couldn’t draw his focus away from a feeling concentrated in his lower belly, a heat pooling there and between his legs, urging his attention. He breathed in pleasure as Eddie’s mouth hungrily sought his throat and he wrapped his arms around his broad frame, asking for more, always more, it would never be enough. Soon enough Eddie obliged, his hands flattening into every groove and curve of his slender body, moving down until they reached his legs where he spread them open and strong fingers ran over the delicate skin of his inner thighs. Waylon moaned into the silence of the night, his voice bouncing off the trees, pleading wordlessly and for just a second arching his back in protest. 

Suddenly his view changed, and before he hardly had a chance to come to terms with being face down in the grass, his ass embarrassingly raised into the air, he was grappling with a new sensation, one much more alarming and striking: Eddie’s lips kissing him in the most intimate of places, his tongue licking him where it definitely never had before. He cried out in surprise as his face blossomed brightly with embarrassment, practically glowing in the darkness, but before he even had the chance to exclaim, “Eddie, no, don’t!” Eddie’s tongue was buried inside him, his strong hands spreading him open, baring him to the night as hot wetness violated him in one of the strangest, most oddly pleasant sensations he’d ever felt. His voice strangled, he whimpered and choked into his arms as his hands gripped helplessly at the grass beneath him. He continued to vocalize involuntarily, primal, pitiful sounds squeezing from his throat that he didn’t know he could make. He gasped and writhed face down as his body burned with need. Eddie was enjoying himself too much, he had to stop, he needed him to either stop or give him more, so much more, he wanted something more and no matter how enthusiastic Eddie’s attentions were he wasn’t satisfied. 

Finally he pulled away, dropping Waylon’s hips to the ground carelessly before grabbing him by the knees and flipping him over then moving between his legs again and pressing flush against his body. Waylon breathed loudly in rhythmic moans and he was painfully aware of the sensation of Eddie’s hardness pushing against his softest, most vulnerable areas, just above where he needed him to be the most. Unabashed, he begged for him breathlessly, “Eddie...please...ah...please!”

Eddie looked down at him, his expression dark with lust as he commanded, "Sing for me."

Waylon tried to ask him if he'd lost his mind, but his words disappeared into a strangled noise in his throat as Eddie began to rock against him, teasing his cock back and forth against his entrance. He craned his head back and let out a high pitched cry, arching his back up off the grass. "Eddie!"

Eddie let out a sound like both a sigh and a growl as his powerful hips continued to grind Waylon's vulnerable form. After a torturous few moments he pressed one hand flat against Waylon's lower stomach firmly and ordered again, "Sing for me!" 

Waylon gasped for breath and looked up to the sky as his voice rang out freely. He didn't hold back, there was no point, he wanted to give Eddie everything, and so he sang, moaning and crying his name as he squirmed helplessly in the grass beneath him. Eddie hung his head, devouring the sounds greedily and growling quietly with lust in return. 

When at last he felt something pushing inside him it wasn't what he expected. He spread his legs wider and cried out in shock and desire as what must have been Eddie’s finger ventured deep, rubbing brutally against his soft insides. He closed his eyes as it moved back and forth, prodding into his heat, thrusting in and out, stretching him and sending tremors of pleasure across his skin. He was a wreck, his body writhing and squirming, how could he take more, he thought, and yet when another finger pressed inside the pain didn’t even matter because it was exactly what he hadn’t known he needed until that moment. 

He mewled Eddie’s name pathetically as he suddenly found himself empty. Eddie leaned down against him, breathing heavily in a near snarl as the head of his cock pressed against the tightness of Waylon’s wet entrance. Waylon put his arms back around Eddie’s neck. “Eddie,” he groaned, “Yes, yes, please…!” Ever accommodating, Eddie grunted and kissed his shoulder softly as he slowly entered him. It was so much all at once and Waylon felt positively skewered on Eddie’s cock as it gradually slid inside him. Eddie was slow and he was gentle, not wanting to cause him more pain than necessary. Waylon did make a quiet sound of pain but breathed furiously, “Keep going…!”

Once he was fully inside, Eddie stopped moving while Waylon groaned and scrunched his toes, trying not to wiggle. He made a whole menagerie of beautiful sounds as Eddie waited for him to grow accustomed to the sensation of having something so large inside him. Eventually, once he had, Waylon nodded with a lustful whimper and Eddie began to move. Instantly Waylon cried out to the sky and the delicious sound caused Eddie’s cock to pulse inside him. They grunted and moaned softly as he oh so gently moved back and forth, thrusting his hips carefully, both of them suffocated by heat. As Eddie pressed back into him, sheathing inside him fully, Waylon sang for him again. He continued to play him like a fine instrument, wringing beautiful song after song from him as his pace increased. Waylon’s breath became desperate, ragged, and soon any awareness of pain was gone, replaced only by an all-consuming desire.

Eddie pounded into him again and again and again. “Yes…yes…” Waylon gasped, signaling to Eddie that he was close to where he wanted him to be. Waylon burned and his body suddenly began to melt away as a long, drawn out sound pulled itself from his lips and filled the night air. Waylon didn’t have to ask. Eddie gripped his hips and slammed into him fast and hard and the night slipped away as the two of them melded and their spirits sang the same song. It was the greatest satisfaction Waylon had known as ecstasy screamed from his every pore. He knew only Eddie, and only registered once he became to come back down that he was saying his name repeatedly. 

“Darling,” Eddie sighed into his ear as he filled him up. Waylon clung to him weakly as his pace began to slow. He thrust a few more times and then stopped as they each caught their breath. Eventually, reluctantly, Eddie pulled out of him, but lingered, hovering over him and planting kisses over his hot, tingling skin. “Waylon, darling…I love you so…” Waylon’s hands found Eddie’s face and he looked into his eyes. He needn't have said it, but he wanted to. “I love you, Eddie.” They kissed slowly and Eddie lay beside him, pulling him close. The night felt colder now and it was a relief against their sweating skin. Waylon rested his cheek against Eddie’s shoulder and heaved a deep, contented sigh. His mind was blank but for an all-consuming sense of well-being and relaxation. Eddie. They rested under the stars without a care, and Eddie placed a loving kiss to Waylon’s forehead as his arm encircled him protectively. Mine, he thought. Mine. 

Cicadas chirped in the distance and the moonless sky stretched over them, shrouding them in comforting darkness like a blanket. The earth was solid beneath them, supporting their bodies firmly and effortlessly.

When the night’s cool air finally lost it's appeal Eddie rubbed Waylon’s back to rouse him, then he gathered their clothes, took Waylon in his arms, and headed back for home. 

Perhaps it was simply because he was exhausted, but whatever the reason Waylon had no nightmares that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. Oh my god, they did the thing. How was it?! I'm so nervous to post this, lol!! God, I hope this was good, I really hope you guys like it. I hope you have boners and lady boners. 
> 
> Enjoy the honeymoon while it lasts! -evil eyebrow wiggle-
> 
> P.S. Omg what the fuck I canNOT get the formatting to do what I want for this chapter? I'm so sorry, the flashback is being fucking stupid.


	5. The Beauty Underneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon gets fully acquainted with the beauty underneath, and pays an old friend a visit.

The needle slipped easily, too easily into the fabric, through to the other side, and straight into the soft skin of Waylon’s finger. 

“Ow!” he muttered, and then swore. Eddie glanced up from his desk and over to where Waylon was sitting, a look on his face that said his concern had drawn him out of a deep thought. Waylon was huddled up on a delicate red and gold sofa that was reminiscent of the one they’d once often sat on in the warehouse, but in this instance the piece of furniture was genuine in its antiquity. He had a gathering of white material folded over in his lap, and he paused his diligent sewing now just for a moment to suck the blood from the soft pad of his finger. 

“It’s fine,” he murmured, “I just poked myself again…”

“You ought to use a thimble, darling, really,” Eddie scolded, reaching his hand out. “Give it here.” 

Waylon glanced up at him, momentarily confused. “What?” Eddie beckoned palm up for Waylon’s hand. They could easily reach one another from where they sat as the room was so small, cramped even, but it suited them just fine, particularly on occasions like this. Waylon gave him his hand, bewildered, then watched mortified as Eddie kissed his finger tenderly before returning to his work without a second thought. Blushing brightly, Waylon went back to his sewing. “I don’t like thimbles, they get in the way,” he grumbled under his breath as the stubborn look on his face slowly became attentive once more. Eddie barely refrained from rolling his eyes. 

The sewing project was Eddie’s of course, but in his boredom, and his excitement for the project to be done, Waylon wanted to help. It was relaxing to do it by hand, and he’d learned from the best.

“How’s it coming?” he asked, looking back up at Eddie as he criticized his script in progress, fingers running idly across his chin, an absentminded act born of deep concentration. Waylon could sense that he had been struggling for some time now. 

“Mm, it’s…” He mumbled something incoherent and then hummed a quiet tune to himself. He sighed, leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers back through his hair in frustration. Waylon hummed the tune back to him delicately a couple keys higher, drawing Eddie’s gaze to him magnetically. He stared, hypnotized.

“Mm. Yes…again.” 

Waylon gave him the notes again and, inspired, Eddie added a few new notes of his own. Waylon hummed those as well and then he watched as Eddie’s eyes lit up. He leaned back over the paper and began scribbling furiously. Waylon smiled, glad that he could help, but he couldn’t have known how greatly his presence acted as a source of inspiration. Eddie was sure his greatest works were yet to come.

The room went silent but for the sound of Eddie furiously tearing the pen across the page and Waylon’s mind began to wander. Lately he couldn’t help but worry about Miles. It had been a few weeks since their escape and now, as on several other occasions, he found himself among the quiet and fretting over how Miles had taken the news. How betrayed must he have felt? How worried must he still be, even now? Surely he was searching for him. As much as Waylon wanted to pretend that the past was wholly behind him there were still a few matters that he felt required clearing up.

But his pity for Miles would forever be overshadowed by anger and hurt. There was no question that he had always known Eddie was alive and Miles’ lies were unforgivable. The one damning piece of evidence was that he had claimed _he_ was the one to rescue Waylon from the fire when, as Waylon now knew for sure, it had been Eddie all along. It was clear that he’d said this to disguise the fact that Eddie was alive. Thinking about it made Waylon’s cheeks flush with rage even now as he sat here in dimness and serenity. How could Miles let him suffer all that time when he had the key to end his suffering from the very beginning? He allowed him to mourn Eddie’s death. He watched as his grip on reality slipped and not even when he was sent back to the hospital did he decide to tell him the truth. He remembered the moment he had asked him one final time…is Eddie alive? Am I going crazy? When he needed the truth the most Miles had failed him. Had _chosen_ to betray him. The reason mattered not. 

His anger made him want to forget about Miles’ existence altogether. He wanted to hate him, but…still, he couldn’t forget all that Miles had done for him. He took care of him when he was at his lowest, something Eddie hadn’t even done. He had supported him both financially and emotionally for purely selfless reasons. Miles loved him, and Waylon loved him too. He pitied him, and he couldn’t just leave him to rot without ever letting him know that he was safe and, at last, happy. He would have to return to the hospital eventually anyway to let them know that he wasn’t, in fact, missing, and without any reason to admit him they would be forced to let him go. 

It was impossible for Miles to be a part of Waylon’s new life…he knew that. It wouldn’t be the reunion Miles was no doubt looking for, but he owed him a good-bye at the very least.

He decided that he would pay Miles Upshur one last visit. 

“Darling?” Eddie called softly, drawing him from his thoughts. Waylon looked up to see him staring at him worriedly. The silence between them had become heavier and Eddie had noticed. “Are you alright?”

Waylon stared at Eddie appreciatively, so full of affection for him in that moment. He stood and shamelessly plopped himself down into Eddie’s lap.

“Yes…thank you…” He looked into Eddie’s eyes as his hands gripped at his waist and pulled him closer. He felt one run up and down his body heatedly, memorizing him, the weight of his presence, the warmth of his skin. 

“Don’t worry,” Eddie breathed against his neck, and Waylon’s response was a sigh of contentment. He nodded slightly, knowing he was right. Everything was okay, there was nothing he had to worry about. No matter what happened it would work out alright in the end. Having Eddie at his side, they could do anything together. Sometimes, and fairly often, he loved Eddie so much that it hurt. His heart ached sweetly and he closed his eyes as he kissed Eddie’s face, taking it gently in his hands. Eddie let out a deep, baritone hum of pleasure and caught his lips in the softest of kisses. “Darling,” he breathed, and Waylon could hear the matching ache in his voice. He smiled at him effortlessly with the knowledge that they were finally getting the happiness they deserved. 

 

 

 

Miles had never really, genuinely had a problem with drinking. In fact, he’d often tried not to drink specifically so that it wouldn’t become a problem. He hated the way that he wanted a drink, not only during the bad times but especially when he was feeling good. Miles had an intense, addictive personality. Some people would say it was hereditary, that because his mother drank and his grandfather drank that he was _destined_ to become an alcoholic. 

Miles knew better. He knew that if he ever became an alcoholic it would be because he let it happen. If he became a drinker it would be because that was the kind of person he was. He had a volatile personality, always sticking his nose into where it shouldn’t be, attracted to anything toxic, always finding new ways to cause trouble for himself, and more than anything always doing nothing halfway. Not a single thing. He worked hard, he loved hard, and he drank hard.

That was why he couldn’t drink. No. No, no, absolutely not. One beer wouldn’t kill him, but there was very little space for him between one beer and enough to put him under the table. Less space than people might think. He couldn’t, just because Waylon had gone didn’t mean he should have permission to…

Lisa. He could call Lisa. And say what? _”Yo, Lisa, I’m thinking about drinking myself unconscious so either shoot the breeze with me until it passes or come over and babysit me.”_ If Waylon were here…jeez, if Waylon were here…he couldn’t say that he wouldn’t have even wanted a drink, since the urges had been coming and going for some time even when they were living together, but if Waylon were just with him then maybe he could find the courage to put it off for a little while longer. He could help him pour the booze down the sink. He would have been embarrassed to drink in front of him anyway, and Waylon didn’t drink, hated the smell of it actually. For the thousandth time that day it seemed, he wished that Waylon would walk in the front door. 

He never did. He never did, and even when at last he actually, miraculously appeared it wouldn’t follow a knock on the front door.

The days dragged on in agonizing clarity, running him ragged and simultaneously boring him to tears. He poured over every document and media outlet citing a murder anywhere in the area, taking notes and searching relentlessly for clues that might lead him to Eddie’s back door. Over the years he’d collected a substantial amount of circumstantial evidence, but nothing concrete of course. Still, he knew, he just knew that the murders went back to Eddie Gluskin. He couldn’t prove it, Lisa told him he was crazy, that he needed to give it a rest, but she just couldn’t recognize the pattern. Now the only thing he could do to search for Waylon was search for Eddie’s familiar bloody trail, but who knew how long it would be before he had any kind of direction to go in? Too long. He felt hopeless. 

Waylon never did show up at his front door, rather he just sort of…appeared one night. Miles was so startled he nearly pulled a gun on him (he’d invested in one recently for the first time in his life), but instead, seeing who it was, he froze in shock and…

…relief. Everything just for that moment melted away and he felt so relieved to see him that he found none of the anger he was searching for. He wanted to say, _how dare you leave?_ But instead all he wanted to do was grab him and hug him and shake him to make sure he was real.

“What are you doing here?” Miles gasped in disbelief. Waylon stared at him blankly. How the hell did he get in here? Waylon stepped towards him with a quiet confidence in his stride, the likes of which Miles hadn’t seen before. Waylon seemed to him already irrevocably changed in some way.

“I’m not staying, but we need to talk.”

“Yeah…yeah, take a seat, I-” Miles rambled as he made for the couch, but stopped as Waylon cut him off. 

“No, I won’t be staying long.” Waylon sighed hard. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought it would. Miles looked terrible. He recognized the look of someone who hadn’t eaten or slept in some time. “I just…” he began more gently. “I just wanted you to know that I was okay, and…and to tell you not to look for me, Miles.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Miles muttered reluctantly. He needn’t have asked, he didn’t want to, and yet he needed to hear it. The response wasn’t what he expected. 

“You told me he was dead.” “I didn’t-” “You _told_ me…he was dead, you _told me_ that _you_ pulled me from the fire, but it wasn’t you, was it?” Waylon watched as Miles shriveled, wincing like a wounded animal and was silent.

More silence. Crippling silence.

Finally, “…I thought it would be better if…”

“If Eddie were dead. You thought it would be better if Eddie were dead, and so you let me think that he was, told me.. told me that I was _crazy_. You let me mourn for him and you…you knew all along, didn’t you?”

“I was trying to _protect_ you…”

“I don’t NEED you to PROTECT me,” Waylon bit back with more venom than he even expected. “What I needed from you was the truth and you just… you just fed me bullshit! You don’t get to decide what’s best for me!” he cried angrily. He was angry, yes, but he was also hurt. He never thought Miles would lie to him, not about something like this. Miles would never understand. Whatever horrors Eddie had in store, Waylon was ready for them, welcoming them with open arms. He wasn’t just something that needed to be protected, he craved so much more than that. He was incapable of settling for less, something that he’d finally only recently realized for himself. Couldn’t he see that Waylon and Eddie were one and the same?

Miles, wounded, was silent again. And all the while he could think of nothing but about how he could make Waylon stay. What could he say to convince Waylon to stay with him? Waylon huffed, clearly frustrated and upset, and backed towards the open window. 

“I just…wanted to say good-bye.”

Miles instantly felt dread seep from his words and straight into his veins like an injection of tar, thick and black, suffocating him from within. He couldn’t catch his breath at first. He mouthed wordlessly, staring in horror as Waylon sat on the window ledge. He desperately tried to form words, the right ones that he needed to keep him from disappearing, but in his panic he was dumbstruck.

“W-w-wait, wait, Waylon, wait!” he cried, running forward as Waylon gave him a sad look and swung his legs over the sill. 

“I forgive you,” he murmured with a sad smile, and meant it, then pushed off from the window and disappeared into the darkness. Like magic.

“Waylon!” Miles screamed, running to the edge of the window and hanging out of it as he looked all around, searching through the darkness, his eyes struggling to adjust to the lack of light. By the time he spotted them they were walking hand in hand along the roof of the apartment lobby below, heading off quickly into the night. Waylon glanced back at him and for an instant their eyes met. Miles screamed. “Waylon, don’t go!”

He did. 

And Miles wouldn’t see him again until the end came. 

 

 

 

Waylon never regretted his decision to love Eddie always, not once.

He didn’t regret it the night that Eddie didn’t come home until very late. 

He heard the front door open and then slam shut, and quickly looked up. There was something ominous about the sound, it was a little bit too… forceful. He could hear Eddie’s footsteps move heavily across the wood floor as he made his way into the kitchen and so he got up from the couch and went to investigate. It was nearly three in the morning and he hadn’t been able to sleep because he was worried about why Eddie hadn’t come home. He’d supposedly gone straight down to the wedding dress shop in town to sell his designs, but he hadn’t been back since the early afternoon. Now he’d finally returned, but Waylon could already tell that something was wrong. 

He didn’t regret it when he walked into the kitchen and saw Eddie covered in blood. 

Head to toe, Eddie’s white clothes were splattered in violent, dark red stains, some fresh and some long since dried. The shock was so strong that Waylon had to grip the counter for support as soon as he saw him. Even the material of his black pants that did not show the color still had the shine of dampness in patches across them. It was definitively blood…a lot of blood. 

“Eddie,” he gasped. 

Eddie turned to look at him and as their gazes met he could instantly see the sharp, primal glint in Eddie’s blue eyes. It made the breath catch in Waylon’s throat, and he froze as if he were a predator that might pounce if provoked. And yet, at the same time, there was an air of understanding and familiarity between them as if Eddie was saying _I could eat you alive, darling, but I won’t._ It made him feel safe even when perhaps he shouldn’t have. 

“…what did you do?” he pleaded as Eddie stepped towards him, and that was when Waylon saw the bloody gleam of the long blade in his hand. Waylon backed against the wall fearfully and tried to catch his breath as Eddie approached him and reached out the back of one tender hand to stroke his cheek, painting a vibrant red streak across the pale skin. He could see Waylon tremble under his gaze, and he smiled dangerously.

He smiled until Waylon glared at him and said through grinding teeth, “You can’t do this, Eddie…you’re going to ruin everything we worked for. It has to stop!”

He didn’t regret it when Eddie put a knife to his neck. 

Waylon held his breath completely, afraid that any slight movement of his throat would slide the sharp blade into the soft meat of his neck. His eyes followed Eddie with utmost obedience, afraid as he was to look away even for a moment. His pulse pounded in his ears and his veins pumped full of adrenaline, fueling him in such a way that time seemed to stand still and everything came into the clearest possible focus. 

“Darling,” Eddie sighed with a sense of adoration comparable only to worship. “I did it to protect us…our family…surely you understand.”

He didn’t. He didn’t understand, but what he did know was that although he was terrified of Eddie he was more terrified that he should ever again be forced to live without him. 

“I don’t, Eddie,” he whispered as a tear slipped down his bloody cheek. “I don’t understand…”

Eddie dropped the knife to the floor with a clatter, took Waylon’s face in his bloody hands and kissed him with such passion that Waylon instantly responded in turn. He kissed him back fervently and when they pulled apart he was panting. His face was twisted into an expression akin to pain. 

“I don’t want you to hurt anyone…I don’t want you to get into trouble, please…” Waylon begged softly as Eddie drew him in close. Waylon grasped at his bloody clothes unflinchingly as he sank into him with resignation. Eddie hands held him close as he looked down into Waylon’s face which was so contorted with anxiety. 

“I only hurt him because he wanted to hurt us…our children…you understand that, don’t you darling?” he cooed lovingly and nuzzled the side of Waylon’s head. 

“What happened, Eddie? What did you do?” he whispered into Eddie’s shoulder as he closed his eyes. 

“He’ll never hurt anyone again. I strung him up like he deserved. He’ll never hurt another child, I promise you that.”

The weight of Eddie’s words sank into him until a sense of dawning comprehension came over him. And soon, with it, came a feeling of acceptance. He trusted Eddie. He understood Eddie. If Eddie was doing this then he must have a reason. Even if he didn’t, did it matter?

“Please…you have to try to stop for me, can you do that, Eddie? Please?” He buried his face into his broad shoulder and let out a weak, shuddering breath. “I can’t lose you again…they’ll take you away from me, you have to be careful.” His eyes opened wide as he felt himself leave the ground. Eddie swept him up into his arms and he responded by wrapping his legs around his waist securely, a natural instinct by now, while his arms came to rest tightly around his neck. He looked tearfully into Eddie’s eyes, panting and buzzing with the palpable energy that seemed to flow between them like electricity. 

“I promise, darling. Trust me.” Waylon nodded and then groaned as Eddie’s kiss bore into him. He clutched him tightly in his hands as adrenaline continued to swim fresh in his veins. He felt no desire to resist as Eddie pressed him into the wall and kissed him hard, burying his fingers in his hair. They were both overcome by primal emotion in that moment. Eddie was painted with blood and the thought both horrified and excited him. His skin was suddenly hot, much too hot, and as if he could sense this Eddie suddenly shifted and laid Waylon down on the nearby kitchen table. Waylon laid back and gasped in surprise as Eddie tore open the buttons on his shirt, laying him bare. He stared at the ceiling panting, grabbing for Eddie and all the while comprehending that Eddie was bathed in gore. It was disgusting and wrong and he could hardly believe he was allowing it to happen even while Eddie yanked down his pants and took him in his mouth. He cried out to the kitchen and arched his back as his hands found fistfuls of Eddie’s thick black hair. He groaned lewdly, the sound of his pleasure reverberating back to him and making him quiver with eagerness. 

Eddie’s strong hands pinned him firmly in place and Waylon could do nothing but try in vain to squirm and wriggle free. Everything was moving so fast he could hardly keep up. Eddie was filling him up, leaving room for nothing else, and soon all he could think about was his tongue as he wrung pleasure out of him like a wet rag. With his inhibitions stripped away he found himself moaning and writhing shamelessly. The thought of Eddie bearing down on him with a murderous gaze, splattered with blood…it had every fiber of his being screaming with desire, overpowering the tiny voice that quietly questioned his sanity. It was too much too soon and yet it wasn’t nearly enough. He could feel the wetness of blood cooling on his skin, but he felt it less and less as his skin developed a thin sheen of sweat. Waylon let out a strangled cry as Eddie dragged him through blinding ecstasy, then he whimpered and pleaded for mercy as Eddie continued his attentions, shocking his system with overstimulation. He gripped at the table and let out a ragged sound, his body jolting and shaking as his eyes rolled back and his legs squirmed. 

Only when Waylon cried, “Eddie, _please_ no more…!” did he finally stop and pull back to look over his work. Waylon’s body went limp and his eyes raked over him hungrily as he lay helpless against the smooth wooden surface of the table. In an instant Eddie had him scooped up into his arms where he held him tight and at last carried him off to the bedroom. It had been a long night and it would be longer yet. Waylon’s head was still spinning with confusion, desire, and fear.

But he would never regret loving Eddie for as long as he lived. 

 

 

 

About a month had passed and by this point Waylon no longer expected that anyone would be looking for him. If Miles had been able to find them then he would have by now. He’d long since blocked Miles’ number in his phone and although he no longer used his cell much he still kept it buried in his dresser in case of an emergency. Somehow he was still shocked to hear it ringing when it finally did. 

“…Lisa?” he whispered into the phone.

“Waylon…man, it’s good to hear your voice,” she said before going silent. Waylon’s body swelled painfully with guilt at the sound of the way her voice choked and cut off abruptly. He listened while she tried to regain her composure. He was unsure of what to say himself. 

At last she breathed, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m…I’m really good, Lisa. Really really good,” he said genuinely, and meant it. Life was strange, and things hadn’t exactly been the picture of typical married life, but he could honestly say he was happy without any hesitation. And bless Lisa; when she responded she sounded genuinely happy for him. 

“That’s really great, Waylon…I’m so glad.” She still sounded like she might be crying, but she went on. “I wanted to call so many times, but I wanted to give you a chance to…do what you had to do. I didn’t even know if you’d pick up,” she said with a soft laugh. 

“I didn’t know if I would either,” Waylon said honestly with a small smile. “I thought you might be Miles…”

“Oh, he would never forgive me if he knew I talked to you…he’s going to kill me when I tell him, but…he’ll be glad too to know you’re really okay…” She paused and then, “I love you, Waylon. We miss you. All of us. I’m sure Billy and Dennis would say it if they were here.”

Waylon was touched. He swallowed thickly. “I love you too…I’m sorry for…everything.” There weren’t enough words to express the way he felt. The guilt and self-loathing, and yet all the ways in which he wanted to try to explain.

“Why did you do it?” she said quietly, hesitantly into the phone. 

Why did he do it? Why did he leave everything behind to trail faithfully beside a mass murderer who terrified him…who killed his friend and who’d nearly killed another? He took a deep breath and then let it out with a sense of freeing resignation. 

“I know that this was a poor decision and that I’m terrible and selfish, but I didn’t do it because I thought it was right…or because it was wrong, or…for any reason other than that…” He paused, his expression vacant. “…it was just something I wanted to do…to see what would happen.” As awful as that sounded, it was true. Regardless of the outcome he had to take the leap just to see what it would be like when he hit the ground. It was crazy. He didn’t know what he was going to say before he said it, only that the words that were coming out of his mouth were true. “Being with Eddie gives me something that nothing else can give me…something necessary…I know you can’t understand, I don’t even know if I understand it myself, but this was the only decision I could have made…I don’t know what that says about me, nothing good I’m sure, but…” He closed his eyes, thinking of when he’d first met Eddie. How different he’d been. How much he’d struggled with the darker sides of himself, how much he felt it was necessary to hide, and now how undeniable it all was. Eddie had given him his freedom. He wasn’t afraid of anything else anymore. Eddie was the only thing left that he had to be afraid of, and it was a fear he relished with ecstasy. He couldn’t have it any other way. 

“It’s not something I know how to explain, but…I could never go back to the way things were. It’s too late for that.” Past the point of no return. 

“I know…I know,” she said with a sigh. “…Miles misses you.”

Waylon opened his eyes and sighed as well. There was a moment of poignant silence and then she continued.

“I know he’s sorry for lying to you…but that’s not why you’re avoiding him, is it?”

Waylon shook his head even though she could not see it. “No, it’s not.” 

“Yeah, I figured as much…just…promise me…if you ever need me, you’ll get ahold of me somehow, won’t you?”

He couldn’t help but smile a little. Lisa. “I promise…thank you, Lisa. Take care of Miles.”

“He’s a handful, but I’ll try.” She sighed again. “…you sound different, Waylon.”

He thought about it. Did he? He supposed he felt different. More confident…less afraid. He had been hopelessly intimidated by Lisa at one point in their lives. Perhaps it was because they had grown closer, or maybe it was because _he_ was different, but either way he thought she was right. 

“I’m afraid to hang up,” she said sadly with a gentle laugh. “But alright…I’ll let you go…take care, please take care…”

“I will, you too Lisa…good-bye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IIIII like this chapter. I struggled a bit, but it was fun to write. I'm gonna cram as much cute and sexy times in here as I can since it won't be long before this series is over! We're probably about... halfway through part 2, maybe a little less. 
> 
> If you have any requests get them in now!! Can't promise I'll write them in, but it wouldn't be the first time you guys inspired me with your ideas!
> 
> Thank you so much!


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